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T HE LAKE ENGLISH CLASSICS 

General Editor LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A. B. 
Professor of English Literature and Rhetoric in Brown University 


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CHICAGO 

I 


NEW YORK 


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GbeXafte EnaUsb Classic© 

EDITED BY 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B. 

Professor of English Literature and Rhetoric in 
Brovin University 


<1 


je Hake Cnglisfj Clastsficsf 


CRANFORD 


BY 

MRS. ELIZABETH GASKELL 


EDITED FOR SCHOOL USE 
BY 

ALBERT ELMER HANCOCK, Ph. D. 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN HAVERFORD COLLEGE 


CHICAGO 

Scott, Foresman and Company 


Copyright 1910 

By SCOTT. FORESMAN and COMPANY 



i 


©CI.A273587 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Introduction 

Page 

I. 

Mrs. Gaskell's Literary Career 

9 

II. 

Cranford 

17 

III. 

Chronological Outline . 

. 29 

IV. 

Bibliography 

30 

Chapter 



I. 

Our Society 

* . 31 

II. 

The Captain 

45 

III. 

A Love Affair of Long Ago . 

. 65 

IV. 

A Visit to an Old Bachelor 

77 

V. 

Old Letters ..... 

. 93 

VI. 

Poor Peter 

108 

VII. 

Visiting 


VIII. 

“Your Ladyship” .... 

138 

IX. 

Signor Brunoni .... 

. 156 

X. 

The Panic 

169 

XI. 

Samuel Brown .... 

. 188 

XII. 

Engaged to Be Married 

203 

XIII. 

Stopped Payment .... 

. 214 

XIV. 

Friends in Need 

229 

XV. 

A Happy Return .... 

. 252 

XVI. 

“Peace to Cranford” .... 

269 




















































































































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4 

























I. MRS. GASKELL’S LITERARY CAREER 


Interest in 

Social 

Reform 


Mrs. Gaskell first became prominent, in the 
North of England, as an advocate of the 
workingman. The introduction of ma- 


chinery into the weaving industry had brought many 
problems in its train. The weavers, formerly practicing 
their trade at home, found themselves transformed into 
factory operatives and crowded into cities which had, 
within a generation, grown out of provincial towns. In 
1800 Manchester, the chief of these, had fifty thousand 
inhabitants; in 1850 it had three hundred thousand. A 
vast increase of wealth had come to the manufacturers, 
but the operatives did not share in it. And those manu- 
facturers who were disposed to arrogate to themselves 
all the profits that flowed from the change in conditions 
found a powerful ally in the so-called Manchester School 
of Political Economy. The Manchester school fought 
the battle of the cities against the agricultural interests 
and the oppressive Corn Laws — which made food dear 
to the poor — , but it was nevertheless responsible for the 
vicious doctrine of “Let alone,” which declared that 
industrial problems should not be regulated by humane 
laws. The effect of this doctrine, in the manufacturing 
world, was to leave the strong unfettered and to expose 
the weak to their good will or their avarice. It made 
a chasm between masters and men. It gave precedence 


9 


10 


INTRODUCTION 


to the “iron law of wages” over the Christian duty of 
an employer to be his brother’s keeper. The result was 
conflict and suffering. The Peterloo massacre, the 
Chartist movement, the great strikes — these loom up 
darkly in the economic history of modern England. No 
wonder then that Disraeli, studying conditions in Sybil, 
spoke qf “the two nations, the Poor and the Rich”; or 
that Carlyle., scorning the dehumanized principles of “Let 
alone,” called Political Economy “the dismal science” ; 
or that Ruskin, in his moral indignation, denounced the 
worship of Britannia of the Market Place. “Let alone” 
made copious production synonymous with wealth for a 
few. Ruskin- -and all the patriots of humanity are with 
him — made vehement protest, crying “There is no wealth 
but life.” In the “hungry forties” the weavers of Man- 
chester were living in sordid, insanitary houses, and many 
of their families were starving. There was a real need 
of applying the principles of humanity and Christianity 
to industrial relations. Mrs. Gaskell was one of those 
who advocated more humane conditions ; conditions which 
finally were realized, after agitations and strikes, by 
beneficent laws. 

Domestic 1832 Elizabeth Stevenson married William 

Life. Gaskell, minister of a Unitarian chapel in 

Manchester. She was then twenty-two years old, and as 
a bride she looked back on an uneventful girlhood. She 
was born in 1810, in Chelsea. Her mother died a month 
after her birth, and the child was sent to live with an 
aunt at Knutsford, up north in Cheshire. Here she spent 
her maiden years, except for an interval at a Stratford 
school and occasional visits to London. Happy marriages, 


INTRODUCTION 


11 


like happy nations, have no history. Mrs. Gaskell’s later 
years, apart from her literary work, were almost as 
uneventful as the earlier ones. She was a devoted wife, 
a devoted mother, and a devoted friend of the poor. In 
the “hungry forties” she went among the unfortunates of 
Manchester, not so much a dispenser of charity as a wise 
friend with frank kindliness. It was during these visits 
that, with her sharp observant eyes, she gained the 
knowledge of sordid economic conditions which enabled 
her to speak later with such convincing authority. For 
fifteen years she lived as the obscure wife of a minister, 
and then, in 1848, she suddenly became famous by the 
publication of Mary Barton. Thereafter Mrs. Gaskell 
was one of the prominent authors of Great Britain, one 
with whom both Dickens and Thackeray felt it an honor 
to be professionally associated. She lived on, writing, 
publishing, doing her household duties, managing her 
benevolent associations — the beauty of her girlhood’s face 
passed into a kind of beatific maternal sunshine — and then, 
in 1865, unexpectedly, while finishing her last novel, she 
was stricken with heart failure and death. She was 
buried in the chapel yard at Knutsford, the village now 
so famous, in disguise, throughout the Anglo-Saxon 
world. 

Mary Barton, the first of Mrs. Gaskell’s 
Her Novels. nove i s> j s an echo of the great strike of 1842, 
and the sensation which it made is due almost wholly to 
the intense contemporary interest in the struggle betweeen 
Capital and Labor. In this book, Mrs. Gaskell’s sym- 
pathies were with the laborers. Although the morose 
workman John Barton is not typical, through him she 


12 


INTRODUCTION 


brings the wrongs of his class into light and emphasis. 
At a secret meeting of strikers John Barton draws the lot 
which forces him to assassinate young Carson, his employ- 
er’s daring, disdainful son. At the close of the narrative 
Barton is broken by remorse, and the elder Carson, who 
had held to his rights under “Let alone,” and who had 
sworn implacable vengeance on the murderer, is seen 
searching the Bible for the forgotten verse, “Except ye for- 
give men their trespasses.” Mary Barton held popular 
attention ; nineteen years after its issue it was dramatized 
as The Long Strike. But in spite of some graceful 
incidents and some undeniable power, it is crude in com- 
parison with the author’s other works. If it has any 
importance at present, that importance lies largely in its 
contemporary reputation. 

It was after her first book that Cranford was published 
as a series of domestic sketches. With Cranford we shall 
deal later. 

Her second novel, Ruth, came to an expectant public as 
a disappointment. Mrs. Gaskell was regarded as a power- 
ful advocate of a cause. Ruth dealt with a phase of general 
morality; it is the story of a young seamstress, gifted with 
fatal charm, who is lured to disgrace. The author’s pur- 
pose is manifestly a study of the process of regeneration. 
It lacks the wide dynamic appeal found in Mary Barton , 
but the style, more finished and subtle, marks a distinct 
advance. 

In her third novel, North and South, Mrs. Gaskell 
returned to the controversies of masters and men. Her 
attitude here is more impartial ; she cannot be accused of 
undue sympathy with tlie laborers. While Thornton, the 


INTRODUCTION 


13 


manufacturer, at first heartlessly exercises his legal rights 
to import Irish strike-breakers, he develops the humane 
temper ; he introduces ethics into economics, preaches the 
desirability of “personal intercourse” between employer 
and employed, and risks financial failure in justifying such 
“industrial experiments.” This book shows great growth 
in ability to create characters. Margaret H'ale, the 
heroine, deserves a place among the notable girls of Eng- 
lish fiction, and the love scene between her and Thornton 
at the end is a triumph by two simple strokes. 

So far Mrs. Gaskell has been a propagandist, seeking to 
teach, if not to preach. This ethical zeal decreases, how- 
ever, as her powers expand. In North and South the 
didactic motive is subordinate to her impulse as a creative 
artist. Sylvia's Lovers shows her full emancipation. This 
story, the action of which is laid in sea-beaten Whitby in 
the days of the press-gang, is strong in the vitality of its 
characters and in the free play of natural passions. It 
deals with an Enoch Arden situation, and the dramatic 
moment, when Sylvia confronts her lying husband with 
her returned lover, though on the ground level of the 
commonplace, is almost sublime in the intensity of the 
young wife’s vow of double renunciation. It is awful with 
frozen rage and frozen love. The scene is one of Mrs. 
Gaskell’s best instances of dramatic power. 

But the real essence of her genius was power in the 
portrayal of domestic routine. And this power came to 
its fullest expression in her last novel, Wives and 
Daughters. There is nothing in it to stir the blood; no 
great crisis, no narrative speed ; not even a plot ; there is 
just a group of people playing everyday roles in everyday 


14 


INTRODUCTION 


lives. It is a transcript of provincial England in the early 
years of Victoria’s reign ; veritable history. There is pene- 
tration and perfect balance in the conception of the charac- 
ters ; Cynthia Kirkpatrick, frankly a flirt ; her mother, 
gracious, heartless, always doing things with a selfish 
motive; Molly Gibson and the Doctor, whose loyal 
strength of endurance is the cohesive force of society; 
Osborne and Roger Hawley, two brothers without a single 
point of contact, yet brothers indeed ; and the old Squire, 
type of the landed gentleman, a Squire Western with 
a century more of culture and varnish. In his deportment 
of a Sunday do we not see the quintessential Englishman 
of the generation just gone? “He had certain unwritten 
rules for the regulation of his conduct on Sundays. Cold 
meat, sermon reading, no smoking until after evening 
prayers, as little thought as possible as to the state of the 
land and the condition of the crops, and as much respect- 
able sitting in-doors in his best clothes as was consistent 
with going to church twice a day, and saying the responses 
louder than the clerk.” Art may be more ambitious, but 
on the even level of domestic life it cannot approach 
any nearer to truthful expression than in Wives and 
Daughters. Here, far better than in any of her preceding 
novels, the author’s faculty for creation is seen,, working 
with ease and assurance. 

Besides the five novels Mrs. Gaskell wrote 
a large number of short tales, for she was 
a born story teller. Of these Cousin Phillis is so strikingly 
the best that the others, in comparison, are obscured. 
Before this prose idyll the critics seem to glow with quiet 
enthusiasm. Mr. Paul More, of the Shelburne Essays, 


INTRODUCTION 


IS 


wonders why it has not ranked with the Vicar of Wake- 
field as a popular classic. Possibly the reason is that Gold- 
smith’s cheerful magic is lacking; possibly, too, for the 
reason that the Vicar had already established itself in the 
jealous chamber of memory, which, were it not so, this 
exquisite tale of love and of godly labor in the fields would 
occupy. 

The Life of Midway in her career as a novelist, Mrs. 
Charlotte Bronte. Gaskell paused to write the biography of 
Charlotte Bronte, one of her friends. The task was under- 
taken by special request and it required great tact. For, 
in an age which still cherished the ideal of a lady’s duty 
to faint under any unusual stress of emotion (the ladies 
do so even in Mrs. Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters ) , 
Charlotte Bronte, intense, self-assertive, had struck the 
world with a forceful shock. There was something Byronic 
in her nature — her “invincible I” — and her life of sup- 
pression on the lonely, dreary moors of Yorkshire, domestic- 
ally harassed, artistically starved, had left her something 
of an enigma to her contemporaries. Matthew Arnold 
speaks of her as “full of hunger, rebellion and rage.” To 
some she seemed of doubtful respectability. There was 
a cry in her soul like the caged starling’s in Sterne: “I 
want to get out.” But death took her early and it fell 
to Mrs. Gaskell to set the strange, gifted personality of 
the woman aright before the world. She did so in a 
biography that has never been superseded. But the frank 
truth and some pardonable mistakes from hearsay testi- 
mony gave offense to persons still living. The con- 
troversies which arose and the lawsuits which threatened 
brought such anguish to the conscientious biographer that 


16 


INTRODUCTION 


she shrank from all literary work and requested that no 
biography should ever be written of herself. In spite of 
the storm after the publication, however, the Life of 
Charlotte Bronte is held by posterity in great repute. 
“It impresses the reader,” said one French critic, “like a 
Greek tragedy.” 

Cranford is a classic, and a classic gives 
Literary Rank. J ast j n g f ame to its author. But Setting 

Cranford aside (for we reserve it for special treatment), 
to what rank is Mrs. Gaskell entitled by her other novels 
and tales? Surely she deserves honorable mention among 
those writers of reformatory zeal, who, in the mid-century, 
sought to infuse ethics into political economy. Yet litera- 
ture .the mainspring of which is zeal for reform soon be- 
comes antiquated. It is by art that an author lives. As an 
artist Mrs. Gaskell can bear no comparison with Dickens, 
Thackeray, or George Eliot. The profound significance 
which these three find in life is absent in her work. Nor 
has she power to compel attention by audacity, like Char- 
lotte Bronte. Her range of life is limited, though within 
this limited range, her ability to create characters and keep 
them in natural action is probably inferior to none. In- 
tense emotion, at times, she can command admirably; and 
humor, refined delicious humor, is hers in abundance. But, 
on the whole, while not superficial, she is not profound. 
In a depth of moderate degree — not too deep for the pearl 
diver — her mind perceives the fine shadings of human 
nature and her creative faculty transforms her perceptions 
into gracious, entertaining art. She has excellence, but not 
that superlative excellence which cannot be crowded out 
by the competitive interests of later generations. 

Cranford, however, remains to be reckoned with, and to 
modifv the final judgment. 


II. CRANFORD 


“It is as the authoress of Mary Barton that 
Early Criticism. Qaskdl will be remembered/’ declared 

a writer in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, in 1879. Yet 
nowadays readers know of Mary Barton only incidentally 
or accidentally; it is Cranford that gives Mrs. Gaskell 
her chief title to fame. It is instructive to see how slowly 
the book came into preeminence. The sketches of which 
it is (composed were first published in Household fV ords, 
at the special invitation of Dickens, the editor, in 1851-53. 
The early critics were unanimous in praising them as 
delightful, but, it may also be said, they were unanimous 
in regarding them as only a delightful bit of by-play of 
the author’s genius. The general surveys of her novels 
give Cranford only passing mention. As late as 1890, 
Professor Ward, writing of Mrs. Gaskell in the Dic- 
tionary of National Biography , did not seem to discern 
its superior value. In 1906, however, when he edited 
the final edition of Mrs. Gaskell’s works., he was aware 
of the immense popularity of the book, especially in Amer- 
ica. He admits its prestige, yet with reluctance and with 
distrust of the popular opinion. The history of Cranford 
resembles that of Pilgrim's Progress. Academic criticism 
failed to discern their real merits ; the reading public com- 
pelled a reversal of judgment. 

Cranford is more than a series of domestic 
Literary Type. s k e t c hes, and yet, in the strict sense, it is not 


17 


18 


INTRODUCTION 


a novel. A novel is a prose presentation of character, in the 
form of fiction, with a carefully contrived arrangement 
of incidents into a plot. Cranford hardly has a plot. 
There is no play of contending forces, developing into a 
iclimax and a readjustment. We have a group of people 
associated by environment. There is a gradual concen- 
tration of attention upon one of them, and an increasing 
interest in her fate. When Miss Matty is threatened 
with poverty, the possibility that Aga Jenkyns, in far 
India, may be her lost brother, introduces an element 
of suspense, which adds, though rather late, the faintest 
color of a plot. Its issue in Peter’s return gives a 
climax, to be sure, and a readjustment of conditions to 
the reader’s hopes. But there is little more of the formal 
structure of a novel in Cranford than in Addison’s De 
Coverley Papers. The parallel between the two is very 
striking. Each contains a central figure and a circle of 
friends, and each has for setting a mildly satirical picture 
of contemporary manners. In ealch case, too, the writer 
is a spectator, seldom in the action, yet intimate with 
the characters. There is no plot ; only a drift of events. 
Cranford must be ranked under that literary type of which 
the De Coverley Papers is the most conspicuous example; 
the type of coherent sketches which shows the novel, 
structurally, in the germ. 

Cranford gives us, like a collection of etch- 

Local Color. j ## i 

mgs, a study of life in a provincial town. 
The original is Knutsford, in Cheshire, lying on the road 
to London about twenty mile£ from Manchester. The 
sketches are full of local color. We see the one long street 
with gray, narrow pavements, the stage-coach discharging 


INTRODUCTION 


19 


its passengers at the George Inn, the age-worn houses, 
some of them telling in whispers of “elegant economy.” 
But it was slander surely to say that “a cannon might 
be fired down the street without hitting anybody” ; for 
the post-woman went her rounds daily, Dr. Hoggins 
drove along in his gig, the ladies slipped over to each 
other’s houses — on pattens when the street was muddy — , 
and if the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson was abroad, one 
might see her sedan chair borne by four shoemakers tem- 
porarily disguised in old liveries. Or, if she was indis- 
posed, the most imposing figure in the town, Mr. Mulliner, 
might be observed bearing her notes in his wicker basket. 
The street was deserted at night except when mild revelers, 
like the participants in that notable gathering at Miss 
Betsy Barker’s, went home guided by their maids and lan- 
terns. Down in London, a hundred years before, one 
remembers, Addison and Steele used to go home from 
Button’s Inn in that fashion — with lantern bearers — and 
the fact suggests that Cranford was just about one hun- 
dred years behind the tide of progress. The patron saint 
of the town, like the dragon in the Siegfried story, slept 
on the hoarded treasury of memories. He wanted to sleep 
on, undisturbed. When the railroad threatened to come 
by the town, there was indignation and a petition against 
the invasion. But Cranford is no mere slavish reporting 
of fact. While the pictures of Knutsford are realistic, the 
author has suppressed some details, added delicate touches 
from general experience, and cast over all the mellow light 
of the higher truth which is art’s idealism. 

Miss Matty Jenkyns is the heroine, so far 
as there is any heroine. And in a spiritual 


The Heroine. 


20 


INTRODUCTION 


sense, she is truly heroic. In the main, hers was an 
inverted kind of heroism ; it consisted in not doing things ; 
in self-depreciation, self-effacement, self-renunciation. “My 
dear,” she said on one notable occasion, “I never did feel 
as if my mind was what people call very strong.” This 
distrust, this modesty run into mania, was the cause of her 
blighted life. It made her look with veneration on her 
sister Deborah as the perfection of judgment; it led her to 
listen to her sister’s advice, to sacrifice at the altar of family 
pride, and send her lover away. This modesty, passing into 
loyalty after Deborah’s death, made her revere the pompous 
sister’s memory and live with it as with a ghost, still 
obedient to her will. If this inverted heroism were all her 
story, we should turn away from her with impatience, if 
not contempt. But there is more. For out of this blighted 
life, with bitterness buried at the roots, there comes the 
fragrant aroma of roses. All Cranford was sweet with her 
presence. And w T hen the great crisis came, involving her 
financial ruin, she whose mind was not very strong rose to 
that crisis and showed a character doubly heroic, because it 
was unaware of its own virtue. “I hope it’s not wrong, not 
wicked — but, oh ! I am so glad Deborah is spared this. She 
could not have borne to come down in the world — she had 
such a noble, lofty spirit.” Miss Matty came down in the 
w r orld and sold tea. But the love she learned in self- 
renunciation made her life sweet and beautiful to the end. 
Her world, even in the days of prosperity, was dull and 
petty; an insignificant little empire of trifles, like the island 
of Lilliput. But when we forget the trivial details and look 
deeply into the inner life, we see something, we feel some- 


INTRODUCTION 


21 


thing, before which we would fain veil our eyes like Moses 
before the burning bush. 

The principal characters in Cranford are 
Characters. women. “To be a man was to be vulgar” 
it was thought in that circle of Amazons. Captain Brown, 
alone among them till death took him, easily shocked the 
fine sensibilities of the ladies. That controversy between 
him and Miss Deborah about the styles of Dr. Johnson 
and Dickens was a duel, in little, between the old conserva- 
tism and the new age. Miss Deborah would brook no 
innovation, would suffer no abatement of ancestor wor- 
ship. Poor Miss Deborah, literary authority, unconscious 
tyrant, slave of empty proprieties — she is a ludicrous figure, 
but so perfectly drawn and so illustrative of pompous 
conceit and vainglory, that we enjoy her ridilculous “high- 
mindedness.” She was powerful though ; she still ruled 
Cranford from her coffin. 

Miss Pole, I suspect, made many a cynical remark about 
her in private, but dared not defy her in the open. Miss 
Pole was the chief purveyor of news in Cranford. Is there 
anything more irresistibly funny in the book than her 
anguish, during that fit of coughing, lest some one should 
forestall her in telling Mrs. Forrester about Lady Glen- 
mire’s engagement? Behold her, decked in her seven 
brooches, when first presented to that lady. She had come 
to do honor to one of the nobility. It was an occasion for 
show. “My dear,” she exclaimed to a friend after that 
meeting, “ten pounds would have purchased every stitch 
she had on — lace and all.” Miss Pole rose heroically, 
nevertheless, when her friendship was put to the test. 

There was snobbery in Cranford. Miss Deborah was 


22 


INTRODUCTION 


responsible for much of it, but the Honorable Mrs. Jamie- 
son it was who gave it full sway and authority. The author 
did a fine piece of satire in her contrast between this dull, 
tiresome imitation of aristocracy and the genuine represen- 
tative. Lady Glenmire comes into the circle, and to the 
surprise of all, is not a grand dame with her head in the 
air. She is a natural woman, kind, agreeable, democratic 
in her manners ; if she had any pride of rank it was most 
successfully concealed. Her marriage to Mr. Hoggins 
really put an end to snobbery in Cranford, — except possibly 
in the case of that “sulky cockatoo,” Mr. Mulliner. He 
was incorrigible; one of those parasites who would rather 
be knocked down by a lord than picked up by a commoner. 

A reference should be made to Mrs. Forrester, who 
guarded so jealously her recipe for bread jelly, and to 
Miss Betsy Barker and her cow in flannels, and to Martha, 
the maid, whose definition of “reason” would surpass 
the philosopher’s. They play, with some other charac- 
ters,, the minor roles in this comedy of high society in 
obscurity. Men are not wholly absent, indeed. The Rever- 
end Mr. Jenkyns the rector, Mr. Holbrook the lover, and 
Peter the runaway, — they come into the story, though less 
in person than in influence, and it is they who supply the 
motives for the underplay of tragedy which gives such 
impressiveness to the strong scenes. 

Important There are four incidents which seem espe- 
incidents. daily effective. The first is that visit to Hol- 
brook’s farm. Miss Matty had loved him in her girl- 
hood, but had rejected his suit under constraint. Romance 
has faded, yet love is not wholly gone. When she visits 
his home, the home that might have been her own, there is 


INTRODUCTION 


23 


an exquisite strain of pathos in her eagerness and inability 
to be appreciative. Time has alienated them. She has 
dwelt in the grim shadow of her sister and Dr. Johnson, 
while Holbrook has become cheerful in his solitude with 
Tennyson. For him the power of love is gone; for her 
there still lingers the frustrate ghost of love. There is 
no finer image of subdued tragedy in the book than the 
picture of the lone elderly maiden, after her visit to the 
bachelor’s home, sitting by her window in her best cap, 
waiting for the old lover’s return. 

The second of these strong scenes, in some ways the 
most powerful in the book, concerns Peter’s flight. Rec- 
tor Jenkyns was not inhuman; he was only austere, as 
became his clerical dignity and vanity. Peter had an 
exuberance of boyish thoughtlessness. One day he played 
his pranks too far, and, before the villagers, his father’s cane 
cut into his pride. Then a miracle happened ; the boy 
suddenly became a man — of insulted dignity. “ ‘Have 
you done enough sir?’ Peter said quite hoarsely and still- 
standing quite quiet.” There was white rage in his words, 
all the more terrible because it was under the admirable 
control of filial respect. He made his grand bow to the 
gaping crowd and went home. “ ‘Mother,’ he exclaimed, 
‘I am come to say, God bless you forever.’ ” And with a 
quiver on his lips, fearful lest he should betray his pur- 
pose, he was gone. The scene is so sudden, so deep in its 
insight, so dramatic in its sudden lightning flash and dark- 
ness that it must give one a new idea of Mrs. Gaskell’s 
power. Could the great Thackeray himself — it reads so 
like him — could he have done the stroke better? 

The third scene is simplicity itself, although it penetrates 


24 


INTRODUCTION 


almost as deep into human nature; the scene where Miss 
Matty first realizes that the bank has failed. A poor man 
at the store is about to lose his five pounds and his wife 
her shawl. Miss Matty is a stockholder and feels her 
responsibility. Here is a chance for a George Eliot to make 
an analytic study of motive. Mrs. Gaskell’s way is differ- 
ent : “I don’t pretend to understand business,” said Miss 
Matty, “I only know if it is going to fail and honest people 
are to lose their money because they have taken our notes — 
I can’t explain myself,” she added as she insisted on ex- 
changing the worthless paper for gold. Perhaps she could 
not explain in words, for her motive was beneath the reach 
of reason. There is more art in this method, however, 
than in much analysis. 

The last of these notable scenes shows us four women 
seated around a table. Miss Matty is ruined, destitute; 
friendship is at a voluntary test. Miss Pole is making a 
little speeech from a card — “not only a duty, but a 
pleasure — a true pleasure” — her voice chokes, she wipes her 
spectacles — “to give what we can to assist her — Miss 
Matilda Jenkyns.” So they write their names and annual 
contributions secretly on slips of paper, and when Mr. 
Smith, Miss Matty’s financial adviser in Drumble, hears 
of this unique and delicately conceived scheme of relief, 
it is no wonder that, like a true Englishman, he walks 
away to the window and begins drumming upon the pane 
with his fingers. And the reader who understands the 
emotions at work in Mr. Smith at that moment will have 
little difficulty in understanding why Mrs. Gaskell loved 
Cranford best of all her works, or why posterity, in spite 
of the critics, has confirmed her choice. 


INTRODUCTION 


25 


Tragi-comedy ^ we differ with those who believe that 
in Cranford. Cranford is only a delightful bit of by-play 
from Mrs. Gaskell’s pen, we should give grounds for the 
opinion. The popular judgment has made the little book 
a classic; that is, something of lasting and superior excel- 
lence. A book, to be a classic, must retain its power of 
appeal long after the conditions which first gave it signifi- 
cance have passed away. Moreover, it must make its appeal 
to the lofty, the deep, or the broadly human emotions of our 
natures. From one point of view, books may be rated in 
value by the quality of the emotion which they arouse, and 
emotions may be set in a scale running from the impulse 
which, lowest of all, speeds one to read sensational news in 
a daily paper, to that emotion which is evoked by our 
profoundest vision of life. Between these two extremes 
we may range the full gamut of emotions, including 
such appeals as those of curiosity, farce, comedy, beauty, 
tragedy. If we ask what is highest in the scale, there 
will be a difference of opinion. A French critic would 
say “Sublimity, undoubtedly,” and an English critic 
who regards Milton’s Paradise Lost as the loftiest of Eng- 
lish poems would probably agree with him. But the matter 
cannot rest here. He who understands the genius of the 
English race would say that on the same level with 
sublimity, if not higher, there must be set the appeal of 
tragi-comedy, that incongruous mood which results when, 
looking into the deeps and seeing life as both ridicu- 
lous and sublime, we do not know whether to laugh or cry. 
The French do not relish incongruity in art; they sever 
comedy and tragedy. The English, on the other hand, 
tolerate the incongruous in art, because life is incongruous, 


26 


INTRODUCTION 


and instinctively they regard that as the profoundest revela- 
tion of life which keeps the beholder poised on the border 
of laughter and tears. 

One of the finest examples of this in literature is Don 
Quixote . Cervantes began this book with the idea of bur- 
lesquing broadly the heroes of extravagant romances, and 
the doleful knight who rides a-tilt at windmills and 
flocks of sheep, mistaking them for giants and invading 
armies, is certainly one of the great comic characters of 
fiction. But as he proceeded, Cervantes left the superficial 
vein of the mere burlesque and began to work deep into 
the mysteries of human nature, and before long his Knight 
of the Mancha had become an example of the misguided, 
hare-brained patriot of humanity; and while you smile at 
his illusions, you must needs feel reverent before his gentle- 
ness, courtesy, and unselfish zeal. One might apply to him 
what Mark Twain says of Shelley: “You can laugh at the 
things he has done, but you can’t laugh at the motive.” 

Shakspere gives us many such instances of this blending 
of incongruities; greatest of all, perhaps, is that scene 
revealing the madness of King Lear. His fantastic garb, 
his antics and his hallucinations, all impel to laughter, yet 
the laughter never comes, and your nature is fairly riven 
with terror. No Anglo-Saxon poet has ever conceived a 
more powerful revelation of life. And it is an ultimate 
expression of the tragi-comic, of the blending of laughter 
and tears. 

Effective tragi-comedy, then, is a sure sign of great 
achievement in art. Cranford is saturated with tragi- 
comedy from Martha’s pudding (the lion couchant), 
which Miss Matty wanted to put into a glass case, to that 


INTRODUCTION 


27 


account of Peter’s flogging, told in the darkness, with 
bated breath, while the maid (who might hear) is sent out 
of the house for eggs. When Miss Matty, as a girl, was 
told of Peter’s disappearance, with the suggestion that he 
might be at the bottom of the pond, she laughed. “The 
horror of that new thought, our bright, darling Peter, cold 
and stark and dead — I remember the ring of my own laugh 
now,” she recounts to her friend. And while, during her 
visit to Holbrook’s, you smile at the whims and oddities of 
the aged two, once flushed with love and youth and desire, 
do you not feel the tragic shiver of the dead sentiment, 
choked by tyranny and time, seemingly dead, yet gasping? 
And when you laugh at Miss Pole, wdth her notes on the 
card and her formal language to the friends in council, 
is not your laughter awed with reverence by this nobility 
of comradeship? Indeed, the whole atmosphere of the 
story is tragi-comic. For Cranford, with all its lovable 
creatures, its touches of homely sentiment, its occasional 
bursts of passion, its lingering tragedies of lost love; its 
joys, its sorrows, its eccentricities and humors; — this Cran- 
ford is a satire on something small imagining itself large 
and endeavoring to do things in the grand style. It is a 
mock-heroic criticism of life. When you view it in all 
aspects, the spectacle is a subject for levity or for very 
somber sobriety. Or is it that a fine artist, displaying her 
picture, holds your mood exquisitely poised between 
laughter and tears? 

If the contention be valid that tragi-comedy 
Lwnai Estimate. j g Qne ^ p r0 f 0U ndest motives in Anglo- 

&axon art, and that Cranford is a fine illustration of 
it, then we may clearly see why this book has aroused 


28 


INTRODUCTION 


such popular interest and come into assured eminence. 
For while Mrs. Gaskell’s more elaborate stories show her 
command over character and the serio-comic, yet nowhere 
has she dealt so amply with this double appeal as in this 
little masterpiece. To be sure, the element of tragi-comedy 
is not the whole sum of its excellence; it only explains 
the ground swells of emotion. More obviously Cranford 
is an exquisite example of the feminine genius for sharp 
observation. On its merit in this regard both critics and 
readers agree. For it certainly is a triumph of observa- 
tion, tinctured with sentiment, humor, and pathos. In 
fact, in this book, Mrs. Gaskell is comparable to Thacke- 
ray. Of course, she has not that writer’s great range 
of substance or richness of style. But both Mrs. Gaskell 
and Thackeray are satirists with an undercurrent of love ; 
the one smiles cheerfully, the other scolds affectionately. 
And Cranford will find its due niche in our memories if 
we set it modestly beside a very great novel and enjoy it 
as a Vanity Fair in miniature. 


III. CHRONOLOGICAL OUTLINE 


1810 Elizabeth Stevenson born at Chelsea, September 29. 
1810-30 Living at Knutsford with her aunt. 

1825-7 In school at Stratford-on-Avon. 

1829 Death of her father. 

1832 Married to Rev. William Gaskell, minister of the 
Unitarian Chapel in Manchester. 

1841 Tour on the Rhine. 

1848 Publication of Mary Barton. 

1849 Makes acquaintance of Dickens, Thackeray, and 

Carlyle. 

1850 First contributions to Dickens’s Household W ords. 
1850 First acquaintance with Charlotte Bronte. 

1851-3 Cranford published serially. 

1853 Publication of Ruth. 

1853 Republication of Cranford. 

1854 At the wedding of Charlotte Bronte to Mr. 

Nicholls. 

1855 Publication of North and South. 

1857 Publication of Life of Charlotte Bronte. 

1857 Trip to Italy. 

1863 Publication of Sylvia* s Lovers. 

1864-5 Wives and Daughters published serially in Corn- 
hill Magazine. 

1865 Publication of Cousin Phillis. 

1865 Death at Manchester,, November 12. Burial at 
Knutsford. 


29 


IV. BIBLIOGRAPHY 


Articles and Reviews 

Dictionary of National Biography. Mrs. G ask ell. A. W. 
Ward. 

Encyclopaedia Britannica. Mrs. Gaskell. 

Fortnightly Review: Sept. 1878. The Novels of Mrs. 
Gaskell. William Minto. 

Lit fell's Living Age: 206 — p. 623. Mrs. Gaskell. Mat 
Hompes. 

LittelVs Living Age: 93 — p. 237. The Works of Mrs. 
Gaskell. 

Butnam s Magazine : 1 — p. 345. Elizabeth Cleghorn Gas- 
kell. Mrs. A. T. Ritchie. 

Bookman: 3 — p. 313. Mrs. Gaskell and Charlotte Bronte. 
Clement K. Shorter. 

Critic: 28 — p. 353. Mrs. Gaskell and Charlotte Bronte. 
J. L. Gilder. 

Ladies' Ho?ne Journal, October, 1901. The Real Cranford. 

Complete Editions of Works 

Smith, Elder & Co., 1901. In seven volumes. 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1906. In eight volumes. 

No biography of Mrs. Gaskell has yet been published. Two 
are announced as in preparation : one by Francis Masson 
(Scribner) and the other by C. K. Shorter (Macmillan). 


30 


CHAPTER I 


OUR SOCIETY 

In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the 
Amazons; all the holders of houses, above a certain rent, 
are women. If a married couple come to settle in the 
town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either 
fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the 
Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being 
with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business 
all the week in the great neighboring commercial town of 
Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railroad. In 
short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are 
not at Cranford. What could they do if they were there? 
The surgeon has his round of thirty miles, and sleeps at 
Cranford ; but every man cannot be a surgeon. For 
keeping the trim gardens full of choice llowers without 
a weed to speck them ; for frightening away little boys 
who look wistfully at the said flowers through the rail- 
ings ; for rushing out at the geese that occasionally venture 
into the gardens if the gates are left open ; for deciding 
all questions of literature and politics without troubling 
themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for 
obtaining clear and correct knowledge of everybody’s 
affairs in the parish; for keeping their neat maid-servants 
in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat dictatorial) 
to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other 


v 31 


32 


CRANFORD 


whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are 
quite sufficient. “A man/’ as one of them observed to me 
once,, “is so in the way in the house!” Although the ladies 
of Cranford know all each other’s proceedings, they are 
exceedingly indifferent to each other’s opinions. Indeed, 
as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, 
pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal 
retaliation; but somehow good-will reigns among them 
to a considerable degree. 

The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little 
quarrel, spirted out in a few peppery words and angry 
jerks of the head; just enough to prevent the even tenor 
of their lives from becoming too flat. Their dress is 
very independent of fashion ; as they observe: “What does 
it signify how we dress here in Cranford, where every- 
body knows us?” And if they go from home, their reason 
is equally cogent: “What does it signify how we dress 
here, where nobody knows us?” The materials of their 
clothes are, in general, good and plain, and most of them 
are nearly as scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly mem- 
ory ; but I will answer for it, the last gigot, 1 the last tight 
and scanty petticoat in w^ear in England, was seen in 
Cranford — and seen without a smile. 

I can testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, 
under which a gentle little spinster, left alone of many 
brothers and sisters, used to patter to church on rainy days. 
Have you any red silk umbrellas in London? We had a 
tradition of the first that had ever been seen in Cranford ; 
and the little boys mobbed it, and called it “a stick in 
petticoats.” It might have been the very red silk one I 

J The leg of mutton sleeve fashionable in the early part of the nineteenth 
century. 


OUR SOCIETY 


33 


have described, held by a strong father over a troop of 
little ones; the poor little lady — the survivor of all — 
could scarcely carry it. 

Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and 
calls ; and they were announced to any young people, who 
might be staying in the town, with all the solemnity with 
which the old Manx 1 laws were read once a year on the 
Tinwald Mount. 

“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after 
your journey to-night, my dear (fifteen miles in a gentle- 
man’s carriage) ; they will give you some rest to-morrow, 
but the next day, I have no doubt, they will call ; so be 
at liberty after twelve; — from twelve to three are our 
calling hours.” 

Then after they had called : 

“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told 
you, my dear, never to let more than three days elapse 
between receiving a call and returning it ; and also, that 
you are never to stay longer than a quarter of an hour.” 

“But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out 
when a quarter of an hour has passed?” 

“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and 
not allow yourself to forget it in conversation.” 

As everybody had this rule in their minds whether they 
received or paid a call, of course no absorbing subject 
was ever spoken about. We kept ourselves to short 
sentences of small talk, and were punctual to our time. 

I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford 
were poor, and had some difficulty in making both ends 
meet ; but they were like the Spartans, and concealed their 

fl Refers to Isle of Man in the Irish Sea. 


34 


CRANFORD 


smart under a smiling face. We none of us spoke of 
money, because that subject savored of commerce and 
trade, and though some might be poor, we were all aristo- j 
cratic. The Cranfordians had that kindly esprit de corps i 
which made them overlook all deficiencies in success when ; 
some among them tried to conceal their poverty. When j 
Mrs. Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her baby- j 
house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the : 
ladies on the sofa by a request that she might get the 
tea-tray out from underneath, every one took this novel 
proceeding as the most natural thing in the world ; and 
talked on about household forms and ceremonies, as if 
we all believed that our hostess had a regular servants’ 
hall, second table, with housekeeper and steward ; instead 
of the one little charity-school maiden, whose short ruddy | 
arms could never have been strong enough to carry the 
tray up-stairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her 
mistress, who now sate in state* pretending not to know 
what cakes were sent up ; though she knew,, and we knew, 
and she knew that we knew, and we knew that she knew 
that we knew, she had been busy all the morning making 
tea-bread and sponge-cakes. 

There were one or two consequences arising from this 
general but unacknowledged poverty, and this very much 
acknowledged gentility, which were not amiss,, and which 
might be introduced into many circles of society to their 
great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of 
Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home in their 
pattens , 1 under the guidance of a lantern-bearer, about 
nine o’clock at night; and the whole town was abed and 

‘Detachable wooden soles to protect shoes from mud. 


OUR SOCIETY 


35 


asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was considered 
“vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) to give any- 
thing expensive in the way of eatable or drinkable at the 
I evening entertainments. Wafer bread-and-butter and 
sponge biscuits were all that the Honorable Mrs. Jamie- 
I son gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of 
Glenmire, although she did practise such “elegant 
| economy.” 

“Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls back 
i into the phraseology of Cranford ! There, economy was 
I always “elegant,” and money-spending always “vulgar and 
| ostentatious”; a sort of sour-grapeism, which made us 
very peaceful and satisfied. I never shall forget the dis- 
may felt when a certain Captain Brown came to live at 
Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor — not in 
a whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and windows 
I being previously closed ; but in the public street ! — in a 
loud military voice! — alleging his poverty as a reason for 
not taking a particular house. The ladies of Cranford 
I were already rather moaning over the invasion of their 
territories by a man and a gentleman. He was a half- 
I pay captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbor- 
ing railroad, which had been vehemently petitioned againstr 
by the little town ; and if, in addition to his masculine 
gender, and his connection with the obnoxious railroad, 
he was so brazen as to talk of being poor — why! then, 
indeed, he must be sent to Coventry . 1 Death was as true 
and as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about 
that, loud out in the streets. It was a word not to be 
mentioned to ears polite. We had tacitly agreed to ignore 

iAn ancient town in Warwickshire; used figuratively for ostracism. 


36 


CRANFORD 


that any with whom we associated on terms of visiting 
equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing 
anything that they wished. If we walked to or from a 
party, it was because the night was so fine, or the air sc 
refreshing; not because sedan-chairs w T ere expensive. If 
we wore prints, instead of summer silks, it was because 
w T e preferred a washing material ; and so on, till we 
blinded ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, all of 
ns, people of very moderate means. Of course, then, we 
did not know what to make of a man who could speak 
of poverty as if it was not a disgrace. Yet somehow Cap-j 
tain Brown made himself respected in Cranford, and was 
called upon, in spite of all resolutions to the contrary. I 
was surprised to hear his opinions, quoted as authority, at 
a visit which I paid to Cranford, about a year after he had; 
settled in the town. My own friends had been amongj 
the bitterest opponents of any proposal to visit the captain; 
and his daughters, only twelve months before; and now! 
he w r as even admitted in the tabooed hours before twelve. 
True, it was to discover the cause of a smoking chimney, 
before the fire was lighted ; but still, Captain Brown; 
walked up-stairs, nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too 
large for the room, and joked quite in the w T ay of a tame 
man, about the house. He had been blind to all the small! 
slights and omissions of trival ceremonies with which he 
had been received. He had been friendly, though the 
Cranford ladies had been cool; he had answered small 
sarcastic compliments in good faith, and with his manly 
frankness had overpowered all the shrinking which met 
him as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. And, at 
last, his excellent masculine common-sense, and his facility 


OUR SOCIETY ‘ 


3 V 


in Revising expedients to overcome domestic dilemmas, 
had gained him an extraordinary place as authority among 
the Cranford ladies. He himself went on in his course, 
as unaware of his popularity as he had been of the reverse ; 
and I am sure he was startled one day, when he found his 
advice so highly esteemed, as to make some counsel which 
he had given in jest, be taken in sober, serious earnest. 

It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney 
cow, which she looked upon as a daughter. You could not 
pay the short quarter-of-an-hour call, without being told 
of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence of this 
animal. The w^hole town knew and kindly regarded Miss 
Betsy Barker’s Alderney; therefore great was the sym- 
pathy and regret when, in an unguarded moment, the 
poor cow tumbled into a. lime-pit. She moaned so loudly 
that she was soon heard., and rescued ; but meanwhile 
the poor beast had lost most of her hair, and came out 
looking naked, cold, and miserable, in a bare skin. 
Everybody pitied the animal, though a few could not 
restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy 
Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it 
was said she thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy,, 
perhaps, was recommended by some one of the number 
whose advice she asked ; but the proposal, if ever it was 
made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown’s 
decided “Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, 
ma’am, if you wish to keep her alive. But my advice is, 
kill the poor creature at once.” 

Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the 
Captain heartily; she set to work, and by and by all the 
(town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her 


38 


CRANFORD 


pasture, clad in dark gray flannel. I have watched herj 
myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in^ 
gray flannel in London? 

Captain Brown had taken a small house on the out- 
skirts of the town, where he lived with his two daughters. 
He must have been upward of sixty at the time of the 
first visit I paid to Cranford, after I left it as a residence. 
But he had a wiry, well-trained, elastic figure ; a stiff 
military throw-back of his head,, and a springing step, 
which made him appear much younger than he w T as. His 
eldest daughter looked almost a9 old as himself, and 
betrayed the fact that his real was more than his apparent 
age. Miss Brown must have been forty; she had a j 
sickly, pained, careworn expression on her face, and looked 
as if the gayety of youth had long faded out of sight. 
Even w’hen young she must have been plain and hard- 
featured. Miss Jessie Brown was ten years younger than ■ 
her sister, and twenty shades prettier. Her face was | 
round and dimpled. Miss Jenkvns once said in a passion 
against Captain Brown (the cause of which I will tell 
you presently), “that she thought it was time for Miss ; 
Jessie to leave off her dimples, and not always to be trying j 
to look like a child.” It was true there was something 
childlike in her face; and there will be, I think, till she 
dies, though she should live to be a hundred. Her eyes 
were large blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you; 
her nose was unformed and snub, and her lips were red 
and dewy; she wore her hair, too, in little rows of curls, 
which heightened this appearance. I do not know if she 
was pretty or not ; but I liked her face, and so did every- 
body, and I do not think she could help her dimples. She 


OUR SOCIETY 


39 


had something of her father’s jauntiness of gait and man- 
ner ; and any female observer might detect a slight differ- 
ence in the attire of the two sisters — that of Miss Jessie 
being about two pounds per annum more expensive than 
Miss Brown’s. Two pounds was a large sum in Captain 
Brown’s annual disbursements. 

Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown 
family when I first saw them all together in Cranford 
; church. The captain I had met before — on the occasion 
of the smoky chimney, which he had cured by some simple 
alteration in the flue. In church, he held his double eye- 
1 glass to his eyes during the Morning Hymn, and then 
lifted up his head erect, and sang out loud and joyfully. 
He made the responses louder than the clerk — an old man 
with a piping feeble voice, who, I think, felt aggrieved at 
the Captain’s sonorous bass, and quavered higher and 
higher in consequence. 

On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the 
most gallant attention to his two daughters. He nodded 
and smiled to his acquaintances ; but he shook hands with 
none until he had helped Miss Brown to unfurl her 
umbrella, had relieved her of her prayer-book, and had 
waited patiently till she, with trembling, nervous hands, 
had taken up her gown to walk through the wet roads. 

I wondered what the Cranford ladies did with Captain 
Brown at their parties. We had often rejoiced, in former 
days, that there was no gentleman to be attended to, and 
to find conversation for, at the card-parties. We had con- 
gratulated ourselves upon the snugness of the evenings; 
and, in our love for gentility, and distaste of mankind, we 
had almost persuaded ourselves that to be a man was 


40 


CRANFORD 


to be “vulgar”; so that when I found my friend and 
hostess, Miss Jenkyris, was going to have a party in my 
honor, and that Captain and the Miss Browns were 
invited, I wondered much what would be the course of 
the evening. Card-tables, w T ith green-baize tops, were set 
out by daylight, just as usual; it was the third week in 
November, so the evenings closed in about four. Candles 
and clean packs of cards were arranged on each table. 
The fire was made up, the neat maid-servant had received 
her last directions; and, there we stood dressed in our 
best,, each with a candle-lighter in our hands, ready to 
dart at the candles as soon as the first knock came. Parties 
in Cranford were solemn festivities, making the ladies 
feel gravely elated, as they sat together in their best dresses. 
As soon as three had arrived, we sat down to 
“Preference, 1 ” I being the unlucky fourth. The next four 
comers were put down immediately to another table; and 
presently the tea-trays, which I had seen set out in the 
store-room as I passed in the morning, were placed each 
on the middle of a card-table. The china was delicate 
egg-shell ; the old-fashioned silver glittered with polish- 
ing; but the eatables were of the slightest description. 
While the trays were yet on the tables, Captain and the 
Miss Browns came in ; and I could see that somehow or 
other the Captain was a favorite with all the ladies pres- 
ent. Ruffled brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered 
at his approach. Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed 
almost to gloom. Miss Jessie smiled as usual, and seemed 
nearly as popular as her father. He immediately and 
quietly assumed the man’s place in the room ; attended to 

*A game of cards sometimes called Boston. 


OUR SOCIETY 


41 


every one’s wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s labor 
by waiting on empty cups, and bread-and-butterless ladies ; 
and yet did it all in so easy and dignified a manner, and so 
much as if it were a matter of course for the strong to 
attend to the weak, that he was a true man throughout. 
He played for threepenny points with as grave an 
interest as if they had been pounds; and yet in all his 
attention to strangers he had an eye on his suffering 
daughter; for suffering I was sure she was, though to 
many eyes she might only appear to be irritable. Miss 
Jessie could not play cards; but she talked to the sitters- 
out,, who, before her coming, had been rather inclined to 
be cross. She sang, too, to an old cracked piano, which 
I think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie sang 
Jock of Hazeldean a little out of tune ; but we were none 
of us musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of 
time, by way of appearing to be so. 

It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I 
had seen that, a little before, she had been a good deal 
annoyed by Miss Jessie Brown’s unguarded admission 
( apropos of Shetland wool) that she had an uncle, her 
mother’s brother, who was a shopkeeper in Edinburgh. 
Miss Jenkyns tried to drown this confession by a terrible 
cough — for the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson was sitting at 
the card-table nearest Miss Jessie, and what would she 
say or think, if she found out she was in the same room 
with a shopkeeper’s niece! But Miss Jessie Brown (who 
had no tact, as we all agreed the next morning) would 
repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole she could 
easily get her the identical Shetland wool required, 
“through my uncle,, who has the best assortment of Shet- 


42 


CRANFORD 


land goods of any one in Edinbro.” It was to take the 
taste of this out of our mouths, and the sound of this out 
of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music; so I say 
again, it was very good of her to beat time to the song. 

When the trays reappeared with biscuits and wine, 
punctually at a quarter to nine, there was conversation ; 
comparing of cards, and talking over tricks; but by and 
by Captain Brown sported a bit of literature. 

“Have you seen any numbers of The Pickwick Papers?” 
said he. (They were then publishing in parts.) “Capital 
thing!” 

Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector 
of Cranford ; and, on the strength of a number of man- 
uscript sermons, and a pretty good library of divinity, 
considered herself literary, and looked upon any conversa- 
tion about books as a challenge to her. So she answered 
and said: “Yes, she had seen them; indeed, she might 
say she had read them.” 

“And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Captain 
Brown. “Aren’t they famously good?” 

So urged, Miss Jenkyns could not but speak. 

“I must say I don’t think they are by any means equal 
to Dr. Johnson. Still, perhaps, the author is young. Let 
him persevere, and who knows what he may become if he 
will take the great Doctor for his model.” This was 
evidently too much for Captain Brown to take placidly; 
and I saw the w T ords on the tip of his tongue before Miss 
Jenkyns had finished her sentence. 

“It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam,” 
he began. 


OUR SOCIETY 


43 


“I am quite aware of that,” returned she. “And I 
make allowances,, Captain Brown.” 

“Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month’s 
number,” pleaded he. “I had it only this morning, and 
I don’t think the company can have read it yet.” 

“As you please,” said she, settling herself with an air of 
resignation. He read the account of the “swarry 1 ” which 
Sam Weller gave at Bath . 2 Some of us laughed heartily. 
I did not dare, because I was staying in the house. Miss 
Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it was ended, she 
turned to me, and said with mild dignity: 

“Fetch me Rasselas , 3 my dear, out of the book-room.” 

When I brought it to her, she turned to Captain 
Brown : 

“Now allow me to read you a scene, and then the 
present company can judge between your favorite, Mr. 
Boz , 4 and Dr. Johnson.” 

She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and 
Imlac, in a high-pitched, majestic voice; and when she 
had ended, she said: “I imagine I am now justified in 
my preference of Dr. Johnson as a writer of fiction.” 
The Captain screwed his lips up, and drummed on the 
table, but he did not speak. She thought she would give 
a finishing blow or two. 

“I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of litera- 
ture, to publish in numbers.” 

x Vulgar for French soiree, an evening company. 

2 See Pickwick Papers, chap. XXXVII. 

3 Dr. Johnson’s story of a prince of Abyssinia who escaped from his seclu- 
sion in the Happy Valley, found the world full of misery and returned to 
the valley a pessimist. 

4 EarIy pen name of Dickens. 


44 


CRANFORD 


“How was the Rambler 1 published, ma’am?” asked 
Captain Brown, in a low voice; which I think Miss Jen- 
kyns could not have heard. 

“Dr. Johnson’s style 2 is a model for young beginners. 
My father recommended it to me when I began to write 
letters. I have formed my own style upon it; I recom- 
mend it to your favorite.” 

“I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style 
for any such pompous writing,” said Captain Brown. 

Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way 
which the Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing, 
she and her friends considered as her forte. Many a copy 
of many a letter have I seen written and corrected on the 
slate, before she “seized the half-hour just previous to 
post-time to assure” her friends of this or that ; and Dr. 
Johnson was, as she said, her model in these compositions. 
She drew herself up with dignity, and only replied to 
Captain Brown’s last remark by saying, with marked 
emphasis on every syllable, “I prefer Dr. Johnson to Mr. 
Boz.” 

It is said — I won’t vouch for the fact — that Captain 
Brown was heard to say, sotto voce, “D — n Dr. Johnson !” 
If he did, he was penitent afterward, as he showed by 
going to stand near Miss Jenkyns’s armchair, and en- 
deavoring to beguile her into conversation on some more 
pleasing subject. But she was inexorable. The next day 
she made the remark I have mentioned about Miss Jessie’s 
dimples. 

J A periodical, after the manner of Addison’s Spectator, published by 
Dr. Johnson. 

2 Dr. Johnson’s style is noted for long words of Latin derivation. In his 
dictionary he defined “network” as “anything reticulated or decussated at 
equal distances with interstices between the intersections.” 


CHAPTER II 


THE CAPTAIN 

It was impossible to live a month at Cranford and not 
know the daily habits of each resident; and long before 
my visit was ended, I knew much concerning the whole 
Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered 
respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply and 
openly about that from the very first. They made no 
mystery of the necessity for their being economical. All 
that remained to be discovered was the Captain’s infinite 
kindness of heart, and the various modes in which, un- 
consciously to himself, he manifested it. Some little 
anecdotes were talked about for some time after they oc- 
curred. As we did not read much, and as all the ladies 
were pretty well suited with servants, there was a dearth 
of subjects for conversation. We therefore discussed the 
circumstance of the Captain taking a poor old woman’s 
dinner out of her hands, one very slippery Sunday. He 
had met her returning from the bakehouse as he came 
from church, and noticed her precarious footing; and, 
with the grave dignity with which he did everything, he 
relieved her of her burden, and steered along the street 
by her side, carrying her baked mutton and potatoes 
safely home. This was thought very eccentric; and it 


45 


46 


CRANFORD 


was rather expected that he would pay a round of calls, 
on the Monday morning, to explain and apologize to the 
Cranford sense of propriety; but he did no such thing; 
and then it was decided that he was ashamed, and was 
keeping out of sight. In a kindly pity for him, we began 
to say: “After all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence 
showed great goodness of heart”; and it was resolved 
that he should be comforted on his next appearance among 
us; but, lo! he came down upon us, untouched by any 
sense of shame, speaking loud and bass as ever, his head 
thrown back, his wig as jaunty and well-curled as usual, 
and we were obliged to conclude he had forgotten all 
about Sunday. 

Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of 
intimacy, on the strength of the Shetland wool and the 
new knitting stitches; so it happened that when I went 
to visit Miss Pole, I saw more of the Browns than I had 
done while staying with Miss Jenkyns, who had never 
got over what she called Captain Brown’s disparaging 
remarks upon Dr. Johnson, as a writer of light and agree- 
able fiction. I found that Miss Brown was seriously ill 
of some lingering, incurable complaint, the pain occasioned 
by which gave the uneasy expression to her face that I 
had taken for unmitigated crossness. Cross, too, she was 
at times, when the nervous irritability occasioned by her 
disease became past endurance. Miss Jessie bore with 
her at these times even more patiently than she did with 
the bitter self-upbraidings by which they were invariably 
succeeded. Miss Brown used to accuse herself, not merely 
of hasty and irritable temper ; but also of being the cause 
why her father and sister were obliged to pinch, in order 


THE CAPTAIN 


47 


to allow her the small luxuries which were necessaries in 
her condition. She would so fain have made sacrifices 
for them and have lightened their cares, that the original 
generosity of her disposition added acerbity to her temper. 
All this was borne by Miss Jessie and her father with 
more than placidity — with absolute tenderness. I forgave 
Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, and her juvenility of 
dress, when I saw her at home. I came to perceive that 
Captain Brown’s dark Brutus wig 1 and padded coat 
(alas! too often threadbare) were remnants of the military 
smartness of his youth, which he now wore unconsciously. 
He was a man of infinite resources,, gained in his barrack 
experience. As he confessed, no one could black his boots 
to please him, except himself; but, indeed, he was not 
above saving the little maid-servant’s labors in every way 
— knowing, most likely, that his daughter’s illness made 
the place a hard one. 

He endeavored to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon 
after the memorable dispute I have named, by a present 
of a wooden fire-shovel (his own making), having heard 
her say how much the grating of an iron one annoyed her. 
She received the present with cool gratitude, and thanked 
him formally. When he was gone, she bade me put it 
away in the lumber room ; feeling, probably, that no 
present from a man who preferred Mr. Boz to Dr. John- 
son could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel. 

Such was the state of things when I left Cranford and 
went to Drumble. I had, however, several correspondents 
who kept me au fait as to the proceedings of the dear 
little town. There was Miss Pole, who was becoming 

‘With the hair brushed back from the forehead; the style was a French 
imitation of classical antiquity. 


48 


CRANFORD 


as much absorbed in crochet as she had been once in 
knitting; and the burden of whose letter was something 
like, “But don’t you forget the white worsted at Flint’s,” 
of the old song; for at the end of every sentence of news 
came a fresh direction as to some crochet commission 
which I was to execute for her. Miss Matilda Jenkyns 
(who did not mind being called Miss Matty when Miss 
Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, kind, rambling letters; 
now and then venturing into an opinion of her own, but 
suddenly pulling herself up and either begging me not to 
name what she had said, as Deborah thought differently, 
and she knew; or else putting in a postscript to the effect 
that, since writing the above, she had been talking over 
the subject with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, 
etc.- — (here, probably, followed a recantation of every 
opinion she had given in the letter). Then cam^ Miss 
Jenkyns — Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty to call her; 
her father having once said that the Hebrew name ought 
to be so pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew 
prophetess for a model in character; and, indeed, she 
was not unlike the stern prophetess in some ways ; making 
allowance, of course, for modern customs and difference 
in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat and a little bonnet 
like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the appearance of a 
strong-minded woman ; although she would have despised 
the modern idea of women being equal to men. Equal, 
indeed ! she knew they were superior. But to return to 
her letters. Everything in them was stately and grand 
like herself. I have been looking them over (dear Miss 
Jenkyns, how I honored her!) and I will give an extract. 


THE CAPTAIN 


49 


more especially because it relates to our friend Captain 
Brown i 1 

“The Honorable Mrs. Jamieson has only just quitted 
mei and, in the course of conversation, she communicated 
to me the intelligence that she had yesterday received a 
call from her revered husband’s quondam friend, Lord 
Mauleverer. You will not easily conjecture what brought 
his Lordship within the precincts of our little towm. It 
was to see Captain Brown, with whom, it appears, his 
Lordship was acquainted in the ‘plumed wars,’ and who 
had the privilege of averting destruction from his Lord- 
ship’s head, when some great peril was impending over it, 
off the misnomered Cape of Good Hope. You know our 
friend the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson’s deficiency in the 
spirit of innocent curiosity; and you will therefore not 
be so much surprised when I tell you she was quite unable 
to disclose to me the exact nature of the peril in question. 
I was anxious, I confess, to ascertain in what manner 
Captain Brown, with his limited establishment, could 
receive so distinguished a guest, and I discovered that his 
Lordship retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing 
slumbers, at the Angel Hotel, but shared the Brunonian 2 
meals during the two days that he honored Cranford with 
his august presence. Mrs. Johnson, our civil butcher’s 
wife, informs me that Miss Jessie purchased a leg of 
lamb ; but besides this, I can hear of no preparation what- 
ever to give a suitable reception to so distinguished a 
visitor. Perhaps they entertained him with ‘the feast of 
l eason and the flow of soul’ ; and to us, w r ho are acquainted 


1 The extract which follows is in imitation of Dr. Johnson s style. 
*Adjective from Brown. 


50 


CRANFORD 


with Captain Brown’s sad want of relish for ‘the pure 
wells of English undefiled,’ it may be matter for con- 
gratulation that he has had the opportunity of improving 
his taste by holding converse with an elegant and refmed 
member of the British aristocracy. But from some mun- 
dane failings who is altogether free?” 

M iss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same 
post. Such a piece of news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit 
was not to be lost on the Cranford letter-writers ; they 
made the most of it. Miss Matty humbly apologized for 
writing at the same time as her sister, who was so much 
more capable than she to describe the honor done to Cran- 
ford ; but, in spite of a little bad spelling, Miss Matty’s 
account gave me the best idea of the commotion occasioned 
by his lordship’s visit, after it had occurred ; for, except 
the people at the Angel, the Browns, Mrs. Jamieson, and 
a little lad his lordship had sworn at for driving a dirty 
hoop against the aristocratic legs, I could not hear of any 
one with whom his lordship had held conversation. 

My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There 
had been neither births, deaths, nor marriages since I was 
there last. Everybody lived in the same house, and wore 
pretty nearly the same well-preserved, old-fashioned 
clothes. The greatest event was,, that the Miss Jenkynses 
had purchased a new carpet for the drawing-room. Oh, 
the busy work Miss Matty and I had in chasing the sun- 
beams, as they fell in an afternoon right down on this 
carpet through the blindless window! We spread news- 
papers over the places, and sat down to our book or our 
work; and, lo! in a quarter of an hour the sun had 
moved, and was blazing away on a fresh spot ; and down 


THE CAPTAIN 


51 


again we went on our knees to alter the position of the 
newspapers. We were very busy, too, one whole morning 
before Miss Jenkyns gave her party, in following her 
directions, and in cutting out and stitching together pieces 
of newspaper, so as to form little paths to every chair, set 
for the expected visitors, lest their shoes might dirty or 
defile the purity of the carpet. Do you make paper paths 
for every guest to walk upon in London? 

Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial 
to each other. The literary dispute, of which I had seen 
the beginning, was a “raw,” the slightest touch on which 
made them wince. It was the only difference of opinion 
they had ever had ; but that difference was enough. Miss 
Jenk)ms could not refrain from talking at Captain Brown; 
and though he did not reply, he drummed with his 
fingers; which action she felt and resented as very dis- 
paraging to Dr. Johnson. He was rather ostentatious in 
his preference of the writings of Mr. Boz ; would w;alk 
through the streets so absorbed in them, that he all but 
ran against Miss Jenkyns; and though his apologies were 
earnest and sincere, and though he did not, in fact, do 
more than startle her and himself, she owned to me she 
had rather he had knocked her down, if he had only been 
reading a higher style of literature. The poor, brave 
Captain ! he looked older, and more worn, and his clothes 
w 7 ere very threadbare. But he seemed as bright and cheer- 
ful as ever, unless he w r as asked about his daughter’s 
health. 

“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more; 
we do what we can to alleviate her pain — God’s will be 
done!” He took off his hat at these last words. I found, 


52 


CRANFORD 


from Miss Matty, that everything had been done, in fact. 
A medical man, of high repute in that country neighbor- 
hood, had been sent for, and every injunction he had 
given was attended to, regardless of expense. Miss Matty 
was sure they denied themselves many things in order to 
make the invalid comfortable; but they never spoke about 
it; and as for Miss Jessie! “I really think she’s an angel,” 
said poor Miss Matty, quite overcome. “To see her way 
of bearing with Miss Brown’s crossness, and the bright 
face she puts on after she’s been sitting up a whole night, 
and scolded above half of it, is quite beautiful. Yet she 
looks as neat and as ready to welcome the Captain at 
breakfast-time, as if she had been asleep in the queen’s 
bed all night. My dear! you never could laugh at her 
prim little curls or her pink bows again, if you saw her 
as I have done.” I could only feel very penitent, and 
greet Miss Jessie with double respect when I met her 
next. She looked faded and pinched; and her lips began 
to quiver, as if she was very weak, when she spoke of her 
sister. But she brightened, and sent back the tears that 
were glittering in her pretty eyes, as she said : 

“But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for kindness! 
I don’t suppose any one has a better dinner than usual 
cooked, but the best part of all comes in a little covered 
basin for my sister. The poor people will leave their 
earliest vegetables at our door for her. They speak short 
and gruff, as if they were ashamed of it; but I am sure 
it often goes to my heart to see their thoughtfulness.” 
The tears now came back and overflowed ; but after a 
minute or two she began to scold herself, and ended by 
going away, the same cheerful Miss Jessie as ever. 


THE CAPTAIN 


53 


“But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something 
for the man who saved his life?” said I. 

“Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason 
for it he never speaks about being poor; and he walked 
along by his lordship, looking as happy and cheerful as a 
prince; and as they never called attention to their dinner 
by apologies, and as Miss Brown was better that day, and 
all seemed bright, I dare say his lordship never knew how 
much care there was in the background. He did send 
game in the winter pretty often,, but now he is gone 
abroad.” 

I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of 
fragments and small opportunities in Cranford ; the rose- 
leaves that were gathered ere they fell, to make into a 
pot-pourri for some one who had no garden ; the little 
bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the drawers of 
some town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some 
invalid. Things that many would despise, and actions 
which it seemed scarcely worth while to perform, were 
all attended to in Cranford. Miss Jenkyns stuck an apple 
full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly in Miss 
Brown’s room ; and as she put in each clove, she uttered 
a Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, she never could think of 
the Browns without talking Johnson; and, as they were 
seldom absent from her thoughts just then, I heard many 
a rolling three-piled sentence. 

Captain Brown called one day to thank Miss Jenkyns 
for many little kindnesses, which I did not know until 
then that she had rendered. He had suddenly become 
like an old man ; his deep bass voice had a quavering in 
it; his eyes looked dim, and the lines on his face were 


54 


CRANFORD 


deep. He did not — could not — speak cheerfully of his 
daughter’s state, but he talked with manly, pious resigna- 
tion, and not much. Twice over he said, “What Jessie 
has been to us, God only knows!” and after the second 
time, he got up hastily, shook hands all round without 
speaking, and left the room. 

That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, 
all listening with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss 
Jenkyns wondered what could be the matter, for some 
time before she took the undignified step of sending Jenny 
out to. inquire. 

Jenny came back with a white face of terror. “Oh, 
ma’am! oh, Miss Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain Brown is 
killed by them nasty cruel railroads!” and she burst into 
tears. She, along with many others, had experienced the 
poor Captain’s kindness. 

“How? where — where? Good God! Jenny, don’t 
waste time in crying, but tell us something.” Miss Matty 
rushed out into the street at once, and collared the man 
who was telling the tale. 

“Come in — come to my sister at once — Miss Jenkyns, 
the rector’s daughter. Oh, man, man! say it is not true,” 
she cried, as she brought the affrighted carter, sleeking 
down his hair, into the drawing-room, where he stood 
with his wet boots on the new carpet, and no one re- 
garded it. 

“Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” and he 
shuddered at the recollection. “The Captain was a-read- 
ing some new book as he was deep in, awaiting for the 
down train ; and there was a little lass as wanted to come 
to its mammy, and gave its sister the slip, and came tod- 


THE CAPTAIN 


55 


dling across the line. And he looked up sudden at the 
sound of the train coming, and seed the child, and he 
darted on the line and cotched it up, and his foot slipped, 
and the train came over him in no time. Oh, Lord, 
Lord ! Mum, it’s quite true — and they’ve come over to 
tell his daughters. The child’s safe, though, with only a 
bang on its shoulder, as he threw it to its mammy. Poor 
Captain would be glad of that, mum, wouldn’t he? God 
bless him!” The great rough carter puckered up his 
manly face and turned away to hide his tears. I turned 
to Miss Jenkyns. She looked very ill, as if she were going 
to faint, and signed to me to open the window. 

“Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those 
girls. God pardon me if ever I have spoken contemptu- 
ously to the Captain !” 

Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out,, telling Miss 
Matilda to give the man a glass of wine. While she was 
away Miss Matty and I huddled over the fire, talking in 
a low and awestruck voice. I know we cried quietly all 
the time. 

Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we 
durst not ask her many questions. She told us that Miss 
Jessie had fainted, and that she and Miss Pole had had 
some difficulty in bringing her round ; but that, as soon 
as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and sit 
with her sister. 

“Mr. Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she 
shall be spared this shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering 
with feelings to which she dared not give way. 

“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss Jen- 
kyns; “you cannot bear up, she must see your tears.” 


56 


CRANFORD 


“God will help me — I will not give way — she was 
asleep when the news came; she may be asleep yet. She 
would be so utterly miserable, not merely at my father’s 
death, but to think of what would become of me; she is 
so good to me.” She looked up earnestly in their faces 
with her soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyns 
afterward she could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, 
how Miss Brown treated her sister. 

However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s 
wish. Miss Brown was to be told her father had been 
summoned to take a short journey on railway business. 
They had managed it in some way — Miss Jenkyns could 
not exactly say how\ Miss Pole was to stop wdth Miss 
Jessie. Mrs. Jamieson had sent to inquire. And this 
was all we heard that night; and a sorrowful night it 
was. The next day a full account of the fatal accident 
was in the county paper, which Miss Jenkyns took in . 1 
Her eyes were very weak, she said,, and she asked me to 
read it. When I came to the “gallant gentleman was 
deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of Pickzvick, 
which he had just received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head 
long and solemnly, and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, in- 
fatuated man.” 

The corpse was to be taken from the station to the 
parish church, there to be interred. Miss Jessie had set 
her heart on following it to the grave, and no dissuasives 
could alter her resolve. Her restraint upon herself made 
her almost obstinate; she resisted all Miss Pole’s en- 
treaties, and Miss Jenkyns’s advice. At last Miss Jenkyns 
gave up the point ; and after a silence, which I feared 

*An Englishman “takes in” a newspaper; an American “takes” it. 


THE CAPTAIN 


57 


portended some deep displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss 
Jenkyns said she should accompany the latter to the 
funeral. 

“It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against 
both propriety and humanity were I to allow it.” 

Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this ar- 
rangement; but her obstinacy, if she had any, had been 
exhausted in her determination to go to the interment. 
She longed, poor thing! I have no doubt, to cry alone 
over the grave of the dear father to whom she had been 
all in all; and to give way, for one little half hour, 
uninterrupted by sympathy, and unobserved by friendship. 
But it was not to be. That afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent 
out for a yard of black crape,, and employed herself busily 
in trimming the little black silk bonnet I have spoken 
about. When it was finished she put it on, and looked 
at us for approbation — admiration she despised. I was 
full of sorrow; but, by one of those whimsical thoughts 
which come unbidden into our heads, in times of deepest 
grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded 
of a helmet; and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half 
jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend Captain Brown’s 
funeral, and I believe supported Miss Jessie with a tender 
indulgent firmness which was invaluable, allowing her to 
weep her passionate fill before they left. 

Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile, attended 
to Miss Brown; and hard work we found it to relieve her 
querulous and never-ending complaints. But if we were 
so weary and dispirited, w’hat must Miss Jessie have been! 
Yet she came back almost calm, as if she had gained a 
new strength. She put off her mourning dress, and came 


58 


CRANFORD 


in looking pale and gentle, thanking us each with a soft, 
long pressure of the hand. She could even smile — a faint, 
sweet,, wintry smile, as if to reassure us of her power to 
endure; but her look made our eyes fill suddenly with 
tears, more than if she had cried outright. 

It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her 
all the watching, livelong night; and that Miss Matty 
and I were to return in the morning to relieve them, and 
give Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours of sleep. 
But when the morning came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at 
the breakfast table, equipped in her helmet bonnet, and 
ordered Miss Matty to stay at home, as she meant to go 
and help to nurse. She was evidently in a state of great 
friendly excitement, which she showed bv eating her 
breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round. 

No nursing — no energetic strong-minded woman — 
could help Miss Brown now. There was that in the 
room as we entered, which was stronger than us all, and 
made us shrink into solemn, awestruck helplessness. Miss 
Brown was dying. We hardly knew her voice, it was 
so devoid of the complaining tone we had always associated 
with it. Miss Jessie told me afterward that it, and her 
face, too, were just what they had been formerly, when 
her mother’s death left her the young anxious head of the 
family, of whom only Miss Jessie survived. 

She was conscious of her sister’s presence, though not, 
I think, of ours. We stood a little behind the curtain. 
Miss Jessie knelt, with her face near her sister’s, in order 
lo catch the last soft, awful whispers. 

“Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have been! God 
forgive me for letting you sacrifice yourself for me as you 


THE CAPTAIN 


59 


did. I have so loved you — and yet I have thought only 
of myself, God forgive me!” 

“Hush, love! hush!” said Miss Jessie, sobbing. 

“And my father! my dear, dear father! I will not 
complain now, if God will give me strength to be patient. 
But, oh, Jessie! tell my father how I longed and yearned 
to see him at last, and to ask his forgiveness. He can 
never know now how I loved him — oh! if I might but 
tell him, before I die! what a life of sorrow his has been, 
and I have done so little to cheer him!” 

A light came into Miss Jessie’s face. “Would it com- 
fort you, dearest, to think that he does know? Would it 
comfort you, love,, to know that his cares, his sorrows — ” 
Her voice quivered ; but she steadied it into calmness. 
“Mary! he has gone before you to the place where the 
weary are at rest. He knows now how you loved him.” 

A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss 
Brown’s face. She did not speak for some time, but then 
we saw her lips form the words, rather than heard the 
sound — “Father, mother, Harry, Archy!” — then, as if it 
was a new idea throwing a filmy shadow over her dark- 
ened mind — “But you will be alone — Jessie!” 

Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, 
I think; for the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, 
at these Words ; and she could not answer at first. Then 
she put her hands together tight, and lifted them up, and 
said — but not to us: 

“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.” 

In a few moments more, Miss Brown lay calm and still, 
never to sorrow or murmur more. 

After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that 


60 


CRANFORD 


Miss Jessie should come to stay with her,, rather than go 
back to the desolate house; which, in fact, we learned 
from Miss Jessie, must now be given up, as she had not 
wherewithal to maintain it. She had something, above 
twenty pounds a year, besides the interest of the money 
for which the furniture would sell, but she could not live 
upon that; and so we talked over her qualifications for 
earning money. 

“I can sew neatly,” said she, “and I like nursing. I 
think, too, I could manage a house, if any one would try 
me as housekeeper ; or I would go into a shop as sales- 
woman if they would have patience with me at first.” 

Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she 
should do no such thing; and talked to herself about 
“some people having no idea of their rank as a captain’s 
daughter,” nearly an hour afterward when she brought 
Miss Jessie up a basin of delicatelv-made arrowroot, and 
stood over her like a dragoon until the last spoonful was 
finished: then she disappeared. Miss Jessie began to tell 
me some more of the plans which had suggested them- 
selves to her, and insensibly fell into talking of the days 
that were past and gone, and interested me so much, I 
neither knew nor heeded how time passed. We were both 
startled when Miss Jenkyns reappeared, and caught us 
crying. I was afraid lest she would be displeased, as she 
often said that crying hindered digestion, and I knew she 
wanted Miss Jessie to get strong; but, instead, she looked 
queer and excited, and fidgeted round us without saying 
anything. At last she spoke. “I have been so much 
startled — no, I’ve not been at all startled — don’t mind me, 
my dear Miss Jessie — I’ve been very much surprised — 


THE CAPTAIN 


61 


in fact, I’ve had a caller, whom you knew once, my dear 
Miss Jessie — ” 

Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and 
looked eagerly at Miss Jenkyns — 

“A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you 
would see him.” 

“Is it? it is not — ” stammered out Miss Jessie, and 
got no farther. 

“This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it to 
Miss Jessie; and while her head was bent over it Miss 
Jenkyns went through a series of winks and odd faces to 
me, and formed her lips into a long sentence, of which, 
of course, I could not understand a word. 

“May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last. 

“Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as to 
say, this is your house, you may show any visitor where 
your like. She took up some knitting of Miss Matty’s 
and began to be very busy, though I could see how she 
trembled a\¥ over. 

Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who 
answered it to show Major Gordon up-stairs; and 
presently in walked a tall, fine, frank-looking man of 
forty, or upward. He shook hands with Miss Jessie; but 
he could not see her eyes, she kept them so fixed on the 
ground. Miss Jenkyns asked me if I w r ould come and 
help her to tie up the preserves in the storeroom; and 
though Miss Jessie plucked at my gown, and even looked 
up at me with begging eye, I durst not refuse to go where 
Miss Jenkyns asked. Instead of tying up preserves in 
the storeroom, however, we went to talk in the dining- 
room; and there Miss Jenkyns told me what Major Gor- 


62 


CRANFORD 


don had told her; how he had served in the same regi- 
ment with Captain Brown, and had become acquainted 
with Miss Jessie, then a sweet-looking, blooming girl of 
eighteen ; how the acquaintance had grown into love on 
his part, though it had been some years before he had 
spoken ; how, on becoming possessed, through the will of 
an uncle, of a good estate in Scotland, he had offered, and 
been refused, though with so much agitation and evident 
distress, that he was sure she was not indifferent to him; 
and how he had discovered that the obstacle was the fell 
disease which was, even then, too surely threatening her 
sister. She had mentioned that the surgeons foretold in- 
tense suffering; and there was no one but herself to nurse 
her poor Mary, or cheer and comfort her father during 
the time of illness. They had had long discussions; and 
on her refusal to pledge herself to him as his wife, when 
all should be over, he had grown angry, and broken off 
entirely, and gone abroad, believing that sh^was a cold- 
hearted person, w T hom he would do well to forget. He 
had been traveling in the East, and was on his return 
home, when, at Rome, he saw the account of Captain 
Brown’s death in Galignani } 

Just then Miss Matty., who had been out all the morn- 
ing and had only lately returned to the house, burst in 
with a face of dismay and outraged propriety. 

“Oh, goodness me!” she said. “Deborah, there’s a 
gentleman sitting in the drawing-room, with his arm 
round Miss Jessie’s waist!” Miss Matty’s eyes looked 
large with terror. 

x An English newspaper published in Paris. 


THE CAPTAIN 


<53 


Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant: 

“The most proper place in the world for his arm to 
be in. Go away, Matilda, and mind your own business.” 
This from her sister, who had hitherto been a model of 
feminine decorum, was a blow for poor Miss Matty, and 
with a double shock she left the room. 

The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many 
years after this. Mrs. Gordon had kept up a warm and 
affectionate intercourse with all at Cranford. Miss Jen- 
kyns, Miss Matty, and Miss Pole had all been to visit 
her, and returned with wonderful accounts of her house, 
her husband, her dress and her looks. For, with happi- 
ness, something of her early bloom returned ; she had been 
a year or two younger than we had taken her for. Her 
eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs. Gordon, her dimples 
were not out of place. At the time to which I have re- 
ferred,, when I last saw Miss Jenkyns, that lady was old 
and feeble and had lost something of her strong mind. 
Little Flora Gordon was staying with the Misses Jen- 
kyns, and when I came in she was reading aloud to Miss 
Jenkyns, who lay feeble and changed on the sofa. Flora 
put down the Rajubler when I came in. 

“Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, “you find me changed, my 
dear. I can’t see as I used to do. If Flora were not here 
to read to me, I hardly know how I should get through 
the day. Did you ever read the Rambler? It’s a wonder- 
ful book — wonderful! and the most improving reading for 
Flora” — (which I dare say it would have been, if she 
could have read half the words without spelling, and could * 
have understood the meaning of a third) — “better than 


6+ 


CRANFORD 


that strange old book, with the queer name, poor Captain 
Brown was killed for reading — that book by Mr. Boz, 
you know — Old Poz ; 1 when I was a girl, but that’s a 
long time ago — I acted ‘Lucy’ in Old Poz ” — she babbled 
on long enough for Flora to get a good long spell at the 
.Christmas Carol, which Miss Matty had left on the table. 

*A juvenile play by Mias Edgeworth. 


CHAPTER III 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 

I thought that probably my connection with Cran- 
ford would cease after Miss Jenkyns’s death; at least, that 
it would have to be kept up by correspondence, which 
bears much the same relation to personal intercourse that 
the books of dried plants I sometimes see ( Hortus Siccus , 
I think they call the thing) do to the living and fresh 
flowers in the lanes and meadows. I was pleasantly sur- 
prised, therefore., by receiving a letter from Miss Pole 
(who had always come in for a supplementary week after 
my annual visit to Miss Jenkyns), proposing that I should 
go and stay with her; and then, in a couple of days after 
my acceptance, came a note from Miss Matty, in which, 
in a rather circuitous and very humble manner, she told 
me how much pleasure I should confer if I could spend a 
week or two with her, either before or after I had been 
at Miss Pole’s; “for,” she said, “since my dear sister’s 
death L am well aware I have no attractions to offer ; it 
is only to the kindness of my friends that I can owe their 
company.” 

Of course, I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as 
soon as I had ended my visit to Miss Pole; and the day 
after my arrival at Cranford, I went to see her, much 

65 


66 


CRANFORD 


wondering what the house would be like without Miss 
Jenkyns,, and rather dreading the changed aspect of things. 
Miss Matty began to cry as soon as she saw me. She 
was evidently nervous from having anticipated my call. I 
comforted her as well as I could; and I found the best 
consolation I could give was the honest praise that came 
from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. Miss Matty 
slowly shook her head over each virtue as it was named 
and attributed to her sister; at last she could not restrain 
the tears which had long been silently flowing, but hid her 
face behind her handkerchief, and sobbed aloud. 

“Dear Miss Matty!” said I, taking her hand; for in- 
deed I did not know in what way to tell her how sorry I 
was for her, left deserted in the world. She put down her 
handkerchief, and said : 

“My dear, I’d rather you did not call me Matty. She 
did not like it; but I did many a thing she did not like, 
I’m afraid — and now she’s gone! If you please, my love, 
will you call me Matilda?” 

I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new 
name with Miss Pole that very day; and, by degrees, Miss 
Matilda’s feeling on the subject was knowm through 
Cranford, and we all tried to drop the more familiar 
name, but with so little success that by and by we gave 
up the attempt. 

My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns 
had so long taken the lead in Cranford that, now she was 
gone, they hardly knew how to give a party. The Hon- 
orable Mrs. Jamieson, to whom Miss Jenkyns herself had 
always yielded the post of honor, was fat and inert,, and 
very much at the mercy of her old servants. If they chose 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


67 


that she should give a party, they reminded her of the 
necessity for so doing; if not, she let it alone. There was 
all the more time for me to hear old-world stories from 
Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I making my father’s 
shirts. I always took a quantity of plain sewing to Cran- 
ford ; for, as we did not read much, or walk much, I 
found it a capital time to get through my work. One of 
Miss Pole’s stories related to a shadow’ of a love affair 
that w r as dimly perceived or suspected long years before. 

Presently the time arrived when I was to remove to 
Miss Matilda’s house. I found her timid and anxious 
about the arrangements for my comfort. Many a time, 
while I was unpacking, did she come backward and for- 
ward to stir the fire, which burned all the worse for being 
so frequently poked. 

“Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. “I don’t 
know exactly how my sister used to arrange them. She 
had capital methods. I am sure she would have trained a 
servant in a week to make a better fire than this, and 
Fanny has been with me four months.” 

This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and 
I could not winder much at it; for if gentlemen were 
scarce, and almost unheard of in the “genteel society” of 
Cranford, they or their counterparts — handsome young 
men — abounded in the lower classes. The pretty neat 
servant-maids had their choice of desirable “followers”; 
and their mistresses, without having the sort of mysterious 
dread of men and matrimony that Miss Matilda had, 
might well feel a little anxious lest the heads of their 
comely maids should be turned by the joiner, or the 
butcher* or the gardener, w T ho were obliged, by their call- 


68 


CRANFORD 


ings, to come to the house, and who, as ill luck would have 
it, were generally handsome and unmarried. Fanny’s 
lovers, if she had any — and Miss Matilda suspected her 
of so many flirtations that, if she had not been very pretty, 
I should have doubted her having one — were a constant 
anxiety to her mistress. She was forbidden, by the articles 
of her engagement, to have “followers”; and though she 
had answered innocently enough, doubling up the hem of 
her apron as she spoke, “Please, ma’am, I never had more 
than one at a time,” Miss Matty prohibited that one. 
But a vision of a man seemed to haunt the kitchen. Fanny 
assured me that it was all fancy; or else I should have 
said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails whisk into 
the scullery once, when I went on an errand into the store- 
room at night; and another evening, when, our watches 
having stopped, I went to look at the clock, there was a 
very odd appearance,, singularly like a young man squeezed 
up between the clock and the back of the open kitchen 
door; and I thought Fanny snatched up the candle very 
hastily, so as to throw the shadow on the clock face, while 
she very positively told me the time half an hour too 
early, as we found out afterward by the church clock. 
But I did not add to Miss Matty’s anxieties by naming 
my suspicions, especially as Fanny said to me, the next 
day, that it was such a queer kitchen for having odd 
shadows about it, she really was almost afraid to stay; 
“for you know, miss,” she added, “I don’t see a creature 
from six o’clock tea till missus rings the bell for prayers 
at ten.” 

However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave; and 
Miss Matilda begged me to stay and “settle her” with 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


69 


the new maid; to which I consented, after I had heard 
from my father that he did not want me at home. The 
new servant was a rough, honest-looking country girl, 
who had only lived in a farm place before ; but I liked her 
looks when she came to be hired; and I promised Miss 
Matilda to put her in the ways of the house. The said 
ways were religiously such as Miss Matilda thought, her 
sister would approve. Many a domestic rule and regula- 
tion had been a subject of plaintive whispered murmur to 
me, during Miss Jenkyns’s life, but now that she was 
•gone, I do not think that even I, who was a favorite, 
durst have suggested an alteration. To give an instance: 
we constantly adhered to the forms which were observed., 
at meal times, in “my father, the rector’s house.” As- 
cordingly, we had always wine and dessert; but the de- 
canters were only filled when there was a party ; and what 
remained was seldom touched, though we had two wine- 
glasses apiece every day after dinner, until the next festive 
occasion arrived, when the state of the remainder wine 
was examined into, in a family council. The dregs were 
often given to the poor; but occasionally, when a good 
deal had been left at the last party (five months ago, it 
might be), it was added to some of a fresh bottle, brought 
up from the cellar. I fancy poor Captain Brown did not 
much like wine; for I noticed he never finished his first 
glass, and most military men take several. Then, as to 
our dessert, Miss Jenkyns used to gather currants and 
gooseberries for it herself, which I sometimes thought 
would have tasted better fresh from the trees; but then, 
as Miss Jenkyns observed, there would have been nothing 
for dessert in summer-time. As it was, we felt very 


70 


CRANFORD 


genteel with our two glasses apiece, and a dish of goose- 
berries at the top,, of currants and biscuits at the sides, 
and two decanters, at the bottom. When oranges came 
in, a curious proceeding was gone through. Miss Jen- 
kyns did not like to cut the fruit; for, as she observed, 
the juice all ran out nobody knew where; sucking (only I 
think she used some more recondite word) was, in fact, 
the only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was 
the unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently 
gone through by little babies; and so, after dessert, in 
orange season, Miss Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to « 
rise up, possess themselves each of an orange in silence, 
and withdraw to the privacy of their own rooms, to in- 
dulge in sucking oranges. 

I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail 
on Miss Matty to stay; and had succeeded in her sister’s 
lifetime. I held up a screen, and did not look, and, as she 
said, she tried not to make the noise very offensive; but 
now that she was left alone, she seemed quite horrified 
when I begged her to remain with me in the warm dining- 
parlor, and enjoy her orange as she liked best. And so it 
was in everything. Miss Jenkyns’s rules were made more 
stringent than ever, because the framer of them was gone 
where there could be no appeal. In all things else Miss 
Matilda was meek and undecided to a fault. I have 
heard Fanny turn her round twenty times in a morning 
about dinner, just as the little hussy chose; and I some- 
times fancied she worked on Miss Matilda’s weakness in 
order to bewilder her, and to make her feel more in the 
power of her clever servant. I determined that I would 
not leave her till I had seen what sort of a person Martha 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


71 


was ; and, if I found her trustworthy, I would tell her 
not to trouble her mistress with every little decision. 

Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault, other- 
wise she was a brisk, well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. 
She had not been with us a w’eek before Miss Matilda 
and I w'ere astounded one morning by the receipt of a 
letter from a cousin of hers, who had been twenty or 
thirty years in India, and who had lately, as we had seen 
by the Army List , returned to England, bringing with 
him an invalid wife, who had never been introduced to 
her English relations. Major Jenkyns wrote to propose 
that he and his wife should spend a night at Cranford, on 
his w r ay to Scotland — at the inn, if it did not suit Miss 
Matilda to receive them into her house; in which case 
they should hope to be with her as much as possible dur- 
ing the day. Of course it must suit her, as she said ; for 
all Cranford knew that she had her sister’s bedroom at 
liberty; but I am sure she wished the Major had stopped 
in India and forgotten his cousins out and out. 

“Oh, how must I manage?” asked she helplessly. “If 
Deborah had been alive, she would have knowm what to 
do with a gentleman visitor. Must I put razors in his 
dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve got none. Deborah 
would have had them. And slippers, and coat brushes?” 
I suggested that probably he would bring all these things 
with him. “And after dinner, how am I to know when 
to get up, and leave him to his wine? Deborah would 
have done it so well; she would have been quite in her 
element. Will he want coffee, do you think?” I under- 
took the management of the coffee, and told her I would 
instruct Martha in the art of waiting, in which it must be 


72 


CRANFORD 


owned she was terribly deficient ; and that I had no doubt 
Major and Mrs. Jenkyns would understand the quiet 
mode in which a lady lived by herself in a country town. 
But she was sadly fluttered. I made her empty her de- 
canters, and bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I wished 
I could have prevented her from being present at my 
instructions to Martha; for she frequently cut in with 
some fresh direction, muddling the poor girl’s mind, as she 
stood open-mouthed, listening to us both. 

“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly,, I see 
now ; for it was aiming at more than we could accomplish 
with quietness and simplicity) ; and then, seeing her look 
bewildered, I added, “Take the vegetables round to 
people, and let them help themselves.” 

“And mind, you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss 
Matilda. “Always go to the ladies before gentlemen, 
when you are waiting.” 

“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; “but I 
like lads best.” 

We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech 
of Martha’s; yet I don’t think she meant any harm; and, 
on the whole, she attended very well to our directions, ex- 
cept that she “nudged” the Major when he did not help 
himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes, while she 
was handing them around. 

The Major and his wife were quiet, unpretending peo- 
ple enough when they did come; languid, as all East In- 
dians are, I suppose. We were rather dismayed at their 
bringing two servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant 
for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for his wife; 
but they slept at the inn,, and took off a good deal of the 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


73 


responsibility by attending carefully to their master’s and 
mistress’s comfort. Martha, to be sure, had never ended 
her staring at the East Indian’s white turban and brown 
complexion, and I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk away 
from him a little as he waited at dinner. Indeed, she 
asked me, when they were gone, if he did not remind me 
of Blue Beard ? On the whole, the visit was most satis- 
factory, and is a subject of conversation even now with 
Miss Matilda; at the time, it greatly excited Cranford, 
and even stirred up the apathetic and Honorable Mrs. 
Jamieson to some expression of interest, when I went to 
call and thank her for the kind answers she had vouch- 
safed to Miss Matilda’s inquiries as to the arrangement of 
a gentleman’s dressing-room — answers which I must con- 
fess she had given in the wearied manner of the Scan- 
dinavian prophetess — 

“Leave me, leave me to repose.” 1 
And now I come to the love affair. 

It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice re- 
moved, who had offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now, 
this cousin lived four or five miles from Cranford on his 
own estate; but his property was not large enough to en- 
title him to rank higher than a yeoman : 2 or rather., with 
something of the “pride which apes humility,” he had re- 
fused to push himself on, as so many of his class had done, 
into the ranks of the squires. He would not allow him- 
self to be called Thomas Holbrook, Esq.; he even sent 
back letters with this address, telling the postmistress at 
Cranford that his name was Mr. Thomas Holbrook, 

iFrom the Descent of Odin by Gray. 

2 One owning a small landed property but outside the pale of aristocracy. 


74 


CRANFORD 


yeoman. He rejected all domestic innovations; he would 
have the house door stand open in summer, and shut in 
winter, without knocker or bell to summon a servant. 
The closed fist or the knob of the stick did this office for 
him, if he found the door locked. He despised every re- 
finement which had not its root deep down in humanity. 
If people were not ill, he saw no necessity for moderating 
his voice. He spoke the dialect of the country in per- 
fection, and constantly used it in conversation; although 
Miss Pole (who gave me these particulars) added, that 
he read aloud more beautifully and with more feeling than 
any one she had ever heard, except the late rector. 

“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” 
asked I. 

“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I think; 
but you know Cousin Thomas would not have been 
enough of a gentleman for the rector and Miss Jenkyns.” 

“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, impa- 
tiently. 

“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below 
her rank. You know she was the rector’s daughter, and 
somehow they are related to Sir Peter Arley: Miss Jen- 
kyns thought a deal of that.” 

“Poor Miss Matty,” said I. 

“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he 
offered and was refused. Miss Matty might not like him 
— and Miss Jenkyns might never have said a word — it is 
only a guess of mine.” 

“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired. 

“No, I think not. You see, Woodley, Cousin Thomas’s 
house, lies half-way between Cranford and Misselton ; and 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


75 


I know he made Misselton his market-town very soon 
after he had offered to Miss Matty; and I don’t think he 
has been into Cranford above once or twice since — once, 
when I was walking with Miss Matty, in High Street; 
and suddenly she darted from me, and went up Shire Lane. 
A few minutes after, I was startled by meeting Cousin 
Thomas.” 

“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle- 
building. 

“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said 
Miss Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gunpowder, into 
small fragments. 

Very soon after — at least during my long visit to Miss 
Matilda — I had the opportunity of seeing Mr. Holbrook; 
seeing, too, his first encounter with his former love, after 
thirty or forty years’ separation. I was helping to decide 
whether any of the new assortment of colored silks which 
they had just received at the shop would do to match a 
gray and black mousseline de laine 1 that wanted a new 
breadth,, when a tall, thin, Don-Quixote-looking old man 
came into the shop for some woolen gloves. I had never 
seen the person (who was rather striking) before, and I 
watched him rather attentively, while Miss Matty listened 
to the shopman. The stranger wore a blue coat with brass 
buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters, and drummed with 
his fingers on the counter until he was attended to. When 
he answered the shop-boy’s question, “What can I have 
the pleasure of showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss 
Matilda start, and then suddenly sit down; and instantly 

*A woolen cloth printed in colors. 


76 


CRANFORD 


I guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry which 
had to be carried round to the other shopman. 

“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarcenet two and two- 
pence the yard and Mr. Holbrook had caught the name,, 
and was across the shop in two strides. 

“Matty — Miss Matilda — Miss Jenkyns! God bless 
my soul! I should not have known you. How are you? 
how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way which 
proved the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated so 
often, as if to himself, “I should not have known you!” 
that any sentimental romance which I might be inclined 
to build was quite done away with by his manner. 

However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in 
the shop; and then waving the shopman with the unpur- 
chased gloves on one side, with, “Another time, sir! an- 
other time!” he walked home with us. I am happy to say 
my client, Miss Matilda, also left the shop in an equally 
bewildered state, not having purchased either green or red 
silk. Mr. Holbrook was evidently full with honest loud- 
spoken joy at meeting his old love again; he touched on 
the changes that had taken place, he even spoke of Miss 
Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, well! we have all 
our faults”; and bade us good-by with many a hope that 
he would soon see Miss Matty again. She went straight 
to her room, and never came back till our early tea-time, 
when I thought she looked as if she had been crying. 


CHAPTER IV 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 

A few days after, a note came from Mr. Holbrook, 
asking us — impartially asking both of us — in a formal, 
old-fashioned style — to spend a day at his house — a long 
June day — for it was June now. He named that he had 
also invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we might join 
in a fly , 1 which could be put up at his house. 

I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, 
no! Miss Pole and I had the greatest difficulty in per- 
suading her to go. She thought it was improper ; and was 
even half annoyed when we utterly ignored the idea of 
any impropriety in her going with two other ladies to see 
her old lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. She 
did not think Deborah would have liked her to go. This 
took us half a day’s good hard talking to get over; but, at 
the first sentence of relenting, I seized the opportunity, 
and wrote and despatched an acceptance in her name — 
fixing day and hour, that all might be decided and done 
with. 

The next morning she asked me if I would go down 
to the shop with her ; and there, after much hesitation, we 
chose . out three caps to be sent home and tried on, that 

*A light vehicle for passengers. 

77 


78 


CRANFORD 


the most becoming might be selected to take with us on 
Thursday. 

She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to 
Woodley. She had evidently never been there before; .and, 
although she little dreamed I knew anything of her early 
story, I could perceive she was in a tremor at the thought 
of seeing the place which might have been her home, and 
robnd which it is probable that many of her innocent 
girlish imaginations had clustered. It was a long drive 
there, through paved jolting lanes. Miss Matilda sat 
holt upright, and looked wistfully out of the windows, as 
we drew near the end of our journey. The aspect of the 
country was quiet and pastoral. Woodley stood among 
fields ; and there was an old-fashioned garden, where roses 
and currant-bushes touched each other, and where the 
feathery asparagus formed a pretty background to the 
pinks and gilly-flowers. There was no drive up to the 
door : we got out at a little gate, and walked up a straight 
box-edged path. 

“My cousin might make a drive, I tfynk,” said Miss 
Pole, who was afraid of earache, and had only her cap on. 

“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matty, with a 
soft plaintiveness in her voice, and almost in a whisper; 
for just then Mr. Holbrook appeared at the door, rubbing 
his hands in very effervescence of hospitality. He looked 
more like my idea of Don Quixote 1 than ever, and yet the 
likeness was only external. His respectable housekeeper 
stood modestly at the door to bid us welcome ; and, while 
she led the elder ladies up-stairs to a bedroom, I begged 

iThe tall lean hero of Cervantes' novel, whose mind was crazed by romances 
and who set out as knight errant to right the wrongs of the world. 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


79 


to look about the garden. My request evidently pleased 
the old gentleman., who took me all round the place, and 
showed me his six-and-twenty cows, named after the dif- 
ferent letters of the alphabet. As we went along, he 
surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and beautiful 
quotations from the poets, ranging easily from Shakespeare 
and George Herbert to those of our own day. He did 
this as naturally as if he were thinking aloud, and their 
true and beautiful words were the best expression he 
could find for w T hat he was thinking or feeling. To be 
sure, he called Byron “my Lord Byrron,” and pronounced 
the name of Goethe strictly in accordance with the Eng- 
lish sound of the letters — “As Goethe says, ‘Ye ever- 
verdant palaces,’ ” etc. Altogether, I never met with a 
man, before or since, who had spent so long a life in a 
secluded and not impressive country, with ever-increasing 
delight in the daily and yearly change of season and 
beauty. 

When he and I w^ent in, we found that dinner was 
nearly ready in the kitchen — for so I suppose the room 
ought to be called, as there were oak dressers and cup- 
boards all round,, all over by the side of the fireplace, and 
only a small Turkey carpet in the middle of the flag-floor. 
The room might have been easily made into a handsome 
dark-oak dining-parlor, by removing the oven and a few r 
other appurtenances of a kitchen, which were evidently 
never used; the real cooking place being at some distance. 
The room in which we were expected to sit was a stiffly 
furnished, ugly apartment; but that in which we did sit 
was what Mr. Holbrook called the counting-house, w’hen 
he paid his laborers their weekly wages, at a great desk 


80 


CRANFORD 


near the door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room — look- 
ing into the orchard, and all covered over with dancing 
tree-shadows — was filled with books. They lay on the 
ground, they covered the walls, they strewed the table. 
He was evidently half ashamed and half proud of his 
extravagance in this respect. They w T ere of all kinds — 
poetry and wild weird tales prevailing. He evidently 
chose his books in accordance with his own tastes, not be- 
cause such and such were classical or established favorites. 

“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to have much 
time for reading ; yet somehow one can’t help it.” 

“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matty, sotto'voce. 

“What a pleasant place!” said I aloud, almost simul- 
taneously. 

“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can you sit on 
these great black leather three-cornered chairs? I like it 
better than the best parlor; but I thought ladies would 
take that for the smarter place.” 

It was the smarter place; but, like most smart things, 
not at all pretty, or pleasant, or homelike; so, while we 
were at dinner, the servant-girl dusted and scrubbed the 
counting-house chairs, and we sat there all the rest of 
the day. 

We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr. 
Holbrook was going to make some apology for his old- 
fashioned ways, for he began : 

“I don’t know whether you like new-fangled ways.” 

“Oh! not at all!” said Mi$s Matty. 

“No more do I,” said he. “My housekeeper will have 
these in her new fashion ; or else I tell her that, when I 
was a young man, we used to keep strictly to my father’s 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


81 


rule., ‘No broth, no ball ; 1 no ball, no beef;’ and always 
began dinner with broth. Then we had suet puddings, 
boiled in the broth with the beef ; and then the meat it- 
self. If we did not sup our broth, we had no ball, which 
we liked a deal better; and the beef came last of all, and 
only those had it who had done justice to the broth and 
the ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn 
their dinners topsy-turvy.” 

When the ducks and green peas came we looked at 
each other in dismay; we had only two-pronged, black- 
handled forks. It is true, the steel was as bright as 
silver; but what were we to do? Miss Matty picked up 
her peas, one by one, on the point of her prongs, much 
as Amine 2 ate her grains of rice after her previous feast 
with the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over her delicate young 
peas as she left them on one side of her plate untasted; 
for they would drop between the prongs. I looked at my 
host; the peas were going wholesale into his capacious 
mouth, shoveled up by his large rounded knife. I saw, I 
imitated, I survived! My friends, in spite of my prece- 
dent, could not muster up courage enough to do an un- 
genteel thing; and, if Mr. Holbrook had not been so 
heartily hungry, he would probably have seen that the 
good peas went away almost untouched. 

After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and a spit- 
toon ; and, asking us to retire to another room, where he 
would soon join us if we disliked tobacco smoke, he pre- 
sented his pipe to Miss Matty, and requested her to fill 
the bowl. This was a compliment to a lady in his youth; 

l Probably a provincial term for the pudding. 

*A character in the Arabian Nights. 


82 


CRANFORD 


but it was rather inappropriate to propose it as an honor 
to Miss Matty, who had been trained by her sister to hold 
smoking of every kind in utter abhorrence. But if it was 
a shock to her refinement, it was also a gratification to her 
feelings to be thus selected; so she daintily stuffed the 
strong tobacco into the pipe ; and then we withdrew^. 

“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said Miss 
Matty, softly, as we settled ourselves in the counting- 
house. “I only hope it is not improper ; so many pleasant 
things are!” 

“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, 
looking round the room. “And how dusty they are!” 

“I think it must be like one of the great Dr. Johnson’s 
rooms,” said Miss Matty. “What a superior man your 
cousin must be!” 

“Yes!” said Miss Pole; “he’s a great reader; but I am 
afraid he has got into very uncouth habits with living 
alone.” 

“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him 
eccentric; very clever people always are!” replied Miss 
Matty. 

When Mr. Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in 
the fields ; but the two elder ladies were afraid of damp 
and dirt; and had only very unbecoming calashes 1 to put 
on over their caps; so they declined, and I was again his 
companion in a turn which he said he was obliged to 
take, to see after his men. He strode along, either wholly 
forgetting my existence, or soothed into silence by his 
pipe — and yet it was not silence exactly. He walked be- 
fore me, with a stooping gait, his hands clasped behind 

»Hoods, fashioned on hoops, to cover the headdress. 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


83 


him; and, as some tree or cloud, or glimpse of distant 
upland pastures, struck him, he quoted poetry to him- 
self; saying it out loud in a grand sonorous voice, with 
just the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. 
We came upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end 
of the house; 

“The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade .” 1 

“Capital term — ‘layers.’ Wonderful man!” I did not 
know whether he was speaking to me or not ; but I put in 
an assenting “Wonderful,” although I knew nothing 
about it; just because I was tired of being forgotten, and 
of being consequently silent. 

He turned sharp around. “Ah ! you may say ‘wonder- 
ful.’ Why, when I saw the review of his poems in 
Blackwood , 2 I set off within an hour, and walked seven 
miles to Misselton (for the horses were not in the way) 
and ordered them. Now, what color are ash-buds in 
March?” 

Is the man going mad ? thought I. He is very like 
Don Quixote. 

“What color are they, I say?” repeated he, vehe- 
mently. 

“I am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with the meek- 
ness of ignorance. 

“I knew you didn’t. No more did I — an old fool that 
I am! — till this young man comes and tells me. Black 
as ash-buds in March. And I’ve lived all my life in the 
country; more shame for me not to know. Black — they 

1 From Tennyson’s Gardener’s Daughter. 

2 A review published in Edinburgh. 


84 


CRANFORD 


are jet-black, madam.” And he went off again, swinging 
along to the music of some rhyme he had got hold of. 

When we came back, nothing would serve him but he 
must read us the poems he had been speaking of; and 
Miss Pole encouraged him in his proposal, I thought, be- 
cause she wished me to hear his beautiful reading, of 
which she had boasted ; but she afterward said it was be- 
cause she had got to a difficult part of her crochet, and 
wanted to count her stitches without having to talk. 
Whatever he had proposed would have been right to Miss 
Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within five 
minutes after he had begun a long poem called Locksley 
Hall , and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, till he 
ended ; when the cessation of his voice wakened her up, 
and she said, feeling that something was expected, and 
that Miss Pole was counting: 

“What a pretty book !” 

“Pretty! madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, indeed!” 

“Oh, yes! I meant beautiful!” said she, fluttered at 
his disapproval of her word. “It is so like that beautiful 
poem of Dr. Johnson’s my sister used to read — I forget 
the name of it; what was it, my dear?” turning to me. 

“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it about?” 

“I don’t remember what it was about, and I’ve quite 
forgotten what the name of it was ; but it was written 
by Dr. Johnson, and was very beautiful, and very like 
what Mr. Holbrook has just been reading.” 

“I don’t remember it,” said he, reflectively. “But I 
don’t know Dr. Johnson’s poems well. I must read 
them.” 

As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr. 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


85 


Holbrook say he should call on the ladies soon, and inquire 
how they got home ; and this evidently pleased and flut- 
tered Miss Matty at the time he said it; but after we 
had lost sight of the old house among the trees, her senti- 
ments toward the master of it were gradually absorbed 
into a distressing wonder as to whether Martha had 
broken her word, and seized on the opportunity of her 
mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” Martha looked 
good, and steady, and composed enough, as she came to 
help us out; she was always careful of Miss Matty, and 
to-night she made use of this unlucky speech : 

“Eh, dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an 
evening in such a thin shawl ! It is no better than 
muslin. At your age, ma’am, you should be careful.” 

“My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking crossly, 
for her; for she was usually gentle. “My age! Why, 
how old do you think I am, that you talk about my age?” 

“Well, ma’am! I should say you were not far short 
of sixty; but folks’ looks is often against them — and I’m 
sure I meant no harm.” 

“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss Matty with 
grave emphasis; for probably the remembrance of her 
youth had come very vividly before her this day, and she 
was annoyed at finding that golden time so far away in 
the past. 

But she never spoke of any former and more intimate 
acquaintance with Mr. Holbrook. She had probably met 
with so little sympathy in her early love, that she had shut 
it up close in her heart; and it was only by a sort of 
watching, which I could hardly avoid, since Miss Pole’s 


86 


CRANFORD 


confidence, that I saw how faithful her poor heart had 
been in its sorrow and its silence. 

She gave me some good reason for wearing her best 
cap every day, and sat near the window, in spite of her 
rheumatism, in order to see, without being seen, down into 
the street. 

He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, 
which were far apart, as he sat with his head bent down, 
whistling, after we had replied to his inquiries about our 
safe return. Suddenly, he jumped up. 

“Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I 
am going there in a week or two.” 

“To Paris!” we both exclaimed. 

“Yes, madam! I’ve never been there, and always had 
a wish to go ; and I think if I don’t go soon,, I mayn’t go 
at all ; so as soon as the hay is got in I shall go, before 
harvest-time.” 

We were so much astonished that we had no commis- 
sions. 

Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, 
with his favorite exclamation : 

“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half 
my errand. Here are the poems for you, you admired so 
much the other evening at my house.” He tugged away 
at a parcel in his coat pocket. “Good-by, miss,” said he; 
“good-by, Matty; take care of yourself.” And he was 
gone. But he had given her a book, and he had called 
her Matty, just as he used to do thirty years ago. 

“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda, 
anxiously. “I don’t believe frogs will agree with him; he 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


87 


used to have to be very careful what he ate, which was 
curious in so strong-looking a young man.” 

Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunc- 
tion to Martha to look after her mistress, and to let me 
know if she thought that Miss Matilda was not so well; 
in which case I would volunteer a visit to my old friend, 
without noticing Martha’s intelligence to her . 1 

Accordingly, I received a' line or two from Martha 
every now and then; and, about November, I had a note 
to say her mistress was “very low^ and sadly off her food 
and the account made me so uneasy, that, although Martha 
did not decidedly summon me, I packed up my things and 
went. 

I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry 
produced by my impromptu visit, for I had only been able 
to give a day’s notice. Miss Matilda looked miserably 
ill, and I prepared to comfort and cosset her. 

I went down to have a private talk with Martha. 

“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I asked, 
as I stood by the kitchen fire. 

“Well! I think it’s better than a fortnight: it is, I 
know; it was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that 
she went into this moping w’ay. I thought she was tired, 
and it would go off with a night’s rest: but, no! she has 
gone on and on ever since, till I thought it my duty to 
write to you, ma’am.” 

“You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort to think 
she has so faithful a servant about her. And I hope you 
find your place comfortable ?” 

“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s plenty 

II. e.i without telling Miss Matty that Martha had written. 


CRANFORD 


to eat and drink, and no more work but what I can do 
easily — but” — Martha hesitated. 

“But what, Martha?” 

“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have 
any followers ; there’s such lots of young fellows in the 
town; and many a one has as much as offered to keep 
company with me; and I may never be in such a likely 
place again, and it’s like wasting an opportunity. Many 
a girl as I know would have ’em unbeknownst to missus; 
but I’ve given my word, and I’ll stick to it; or else this 
is just the house for missus never to be the wiser if they 
did come; and it ? s such a capable kitchen — there’s such 
good dark corners in it- — I’d be bound to hide any one. 
I counted up last Sunday night — for I’ll not deny I was 
crying because I had to shut the door in Jim Hearn’s face; 
and he’s a steady young man, fit for any girl ; only I had 
given missus my word.” Martha was all but crying 
again, and I had little comfort to give her, for I knew, 
from old experience, of the horror with which both the 
Misses Jenkyns looked upon “followers,” and in Miss 
Matty’s present nervous state this dread was not likely to 
be lessened. 

I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her com- 
pletely by surprise, for she had not been to see Miss 
Matilda for two da)^s. 

“And now I must go back with you, my dear; for I 
promised to let her know how Thomas Holbrook went on ; 
and I’m sorry to say his housekeeper has sent me word 
to-day that he hasn’t long to live. Poor Thomas! That 
journey to Paris was quite too much for him. His house- 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


89 


keeper says he has hardly ever been round his fields since ; 
but just sits with his hands on his knees in the counting- 
house, not reading or anything, but only saying, what a 
wonderful city Paris was ! Paris has much to answer for, 
if it’s killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never 
lived.” 

“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked I, a 
new light as to the cause of her indisposition dawning 
upon me. 

“Dear, to be sure, yes! Has not she told you? I let 
her know a fortnight ago, or more, when first I heard of 
it. How *odd she shouldn’t have told you!” 

Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I 
felt almost guilty of having spied too curiously into that 
tender heart, and I was not going to speak of its secrets — 
hidden, Miss Matty believed, from all the world. I 
ushered Miss Pole into Miss Matilda’s little drawing- 
room ; and then left them alone. But I was not surprised 
when Martha came to my bedroom door to ask me to go 
down to dinner alone, for that missus had one of her bad 
headaches. She came into the drawing-room at tea-time ; 
but it was evidently an effort to her; and, as if to make 
up for some reproachful feeling against her late sister, 
Miss Jenkyns, which had been troubling her all the after- 
noon,, and for which she now felt penitent, she kept telling 
me how good and how clever Deborah was in her youth ; 
how she used to settle what gowns they were to wear at 
all the parties (faint, ghostly ideas of grim parties far 
away in the distance, when Miss Matty and Miss Pole 
were young) ; and how Deborah and her mother had 


90 


CRANFORD 


started the benefit society for the poor, and taught girls 
cooking and plain sewing; and how Deborah had once 
danced with a lord ; and how she used to visit at Sir Peter 
Arley’s, and try to remodel the quiet rectory establish- 
ment on the plans of Arley Hall, where they kept thirty 
servants; and how she had nursed Miss Matty through a 
long, long illness, of which I had never heard before, but 
which I now dated in my own mind as following the dis- 
missal of the suit of Mr. Holbrook. So we talked softly 
and quietly of old times, through the long November 
evening. 

The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr. 
Holbrook was dead. Miss Matty heard the news in 
silence; in fact, from the account of the previous day, it 
was only what we had to expect. Miss Pole kept calling 
upon us for some expression of regret, by asking if it was 
not sad that he was gone ; and saying : 

“To think of that pleasant day last June, when he 
seemed so well ! And he might have lived this dozen years 
if he had not gone to that wicked Paris, where they are 
always having revolutions.” 

She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw 
Miss Matty could not speak, she was trembling so nerv- 
ously ; so I said what I really felt ; and after a call of some 
duration — all the time of which I have no doubt Miss 
Pole thought Miss Matty received the news very calmly 
— our visitor took her leave. Miss Matty made a strong 
effort to conceal her feelings — a concealment she prac- 
ticed even with me, for she has never alluded to Mr. Hol- 
brook again,, although the book he gave her lies with her 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


91 


Bible on the little table by her bedside; she did not think 
I heard her when she asked the little milliner of Cranford 
to make her caps something like the Honorable Mrs. 
Jamieson’s, or that I noticed the reply: 

‘‘But she wears widows’ caps, ma’am?” 

“Oh ! I only meant something in that style ; not 
widows’, of course, but rather like Mrs. Jamieson’s.” 

This effort at concealment was the beginning of the 
tremulous motion of head and hands which I have seen 
ever since in Miss Matty. 

The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr. Hol- 
brook’s death, Miss Matilda was very silent and thought- 
ful ; after prayers she called Martha back, and then she 
stood uncertain what to say. 

“Martha!” she said at last; “you are young;” and then 
she made so long a pause, that Martha, to remind her of 
her half-finished sentence, dropped a curtsy, and said: 

“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of 
October, please, ma’am.” 

“And perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with 
a young man you like, and who likes you. I did say you 
were not to have followers; but if you meet w T ith such a 
young man, and tell me, and I find he is respectable, I 
have no objection to his coming to see you once a week. 
God forbid!” said she, in a low voice, “that I should 
grieve any young hearts.” She spoke as if she were pro- 
viding for some distant contingency, and was rather 
startled when Martha made her ready, eager answer: 

“Please, ma’am, there’s Jim Hearn, and he’s a joiner, 
making three and sixpence a day, and six foot one in his 


92 


CRANFORD 


stocking-feet, please, ma’am; and if you’ll ask about him 
to-morrow morning, every one will give him a character 
for steadiness; and he’ll be glad enough to come to-mor- 
row night, I’ll be bound.” 

Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate 
and Love. 


CHAPTER V 


OLD LETTERS 

I have often noticed that almost every one has his own 
individual small economies — careful habits of saving frac- 
tions of pennies in some one peculiar direction — any dis- 
turbance of which annoys him more than spending shill- 
ings or pounds on some real extravagance. An old gentle- 
man of my acquaintance, who took the intelligence of the 
failure of a joint-stock bank, in which some of his money 
was invested., with stoical mildness, worried his family all 
through a long summer’s day because one of them had torn 
(instead of cutting) out the written leaves of his now 
useless bank-book; of course, the corresponding pages at 
the other end came out as well ; and this little unnecessary 
waste of paper (his private economy) chafed him more 
than all the loss of his money. Envelopes fretted his soul 
terribly when they first came in j 1 the only way in which 
he could reconcile himself to such waste of his cherished 
article was by patiently turning inside out all that were 
sent to him, and so making them serve again. Even now, 
though tamed by age, I see him casting wistful glances at 
his daughters when they send a whole instead of a half 
sheet of note-paper, with the three lines of acceptance to 
an invitation, written on only one of the sides. I am not 

iFormerly letters were folded, sealed with wax, and sent without envelopes 

93 


94 


CRANFORD 


above owning that I have this human weakness myself. 
String is my foible. My pockets get full of little hanks 
of it, picked up and twisted together, ready for uses that 
never come. I am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the 
string of a parcel, instead of patiently and faithfully un- 
doing it fold by fold. How people can bring themselves 
to use India-rubber rings, which are a sort of deification of 
string, as lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. To me an 
India-rubber ring is a precious treasure. I have one 
which is not new ; one that I picked up off the floor nearly 
six years ago. I have really tried to use it, but my heart 
failed me, and I could not commit the extravagance. 

Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot at- 
tend to conversation, because of the annoyance occasioned 
by the habit which some people have of invariably taking 
more butter than they want. Have you not seen the 
anxious look (almost mesmeric) which such persons fix 
on the article? They would feel it a relief if they might 
bury it out of their sight, by popping it into their own 
mouths, and swallowing it down ; and they are really 
made happy if the person on whose plate it lies unused 
suddenly breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not 
want at all) and eats up his butter. They think that this 
is not waste. 

Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We 
had many devices to use as few as possible. In the winter 
afternoons she would sit knitting for two or three hours; 
she could do this in the dark, or by fire-light; and when 
I asked if I might not ring for candles to finish stitching 
my wristbands,, she told me to “keep blind man’s holiday.” 
They were usually brought in with tea; but we only 


OLD LETTERS 


95 


burned one at a time. As we lived in constant preparation 
for a friend who might come in any evening (but who 
never did), it required some contrivance to keep our two 
candles of the same length, ready to be lighted, and to 
look as if we burned two always. The candles took it in 
turns; and, whatever we might be talking about or doing, 
Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, 
ready to jump up and extinguish it, and to light the other 
before they had become too uneven in length to be re- 
stored to equality in the course of the evening. 

One night, I remember that this candle economy par- 
ticularly annoyed me. I had been very much tired of my 
compulsory “blind man’s holiday,” especially as Miss 
Matty had fallen asleep, and I did not like to stir the fire, 
and run the risk of awakening her ; so I could not even 
sit on the rug, and scorch myself with sewing by fire- 
light, according to my usual custom. I fancied Miss 
Matty must be dreaming of her early life; for she spoke 
one or two words, in her uneasy sleep, bearing reference 
to persons who were dead long before. When Martha 
brought in the lighted candle and tea, Miss Matty started 
into wakefulness, with a strange, bewildered look around, 
as if we were not the people she expected to see about her. 
There was a little sad expression that shadowed her face 
as she recognized me ; but immediately afterward she tried 
to give me her usual smile. All through tea-time, her talk 
ran upon the days of her childhood and youth. Perhaps 
this reminded her of the desirableness of looking over all 
the old family letters, and destroying such as ought not 
to be allowed to fall into the hands of strangers; for she 
had often spoken of the necessity of this task, but had 


96 


CRANFORD 


always shrunk from it, with a timid dread of something 
painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea, and 
went for them — in the dark, for she piqued herself on the 
precise neatness of all her chamber arrangements, and 
used to look uneasily at me when I lighted a bed-candle 
to go to another room for anything. When she returned, 
there was a faint, pleasant smell of Tonquin beans in the 
room. I had always noticed this scent about any of the 
things which had belonged to her mother; and many of 
the letters were addressed to her — yellow bundles of love- 
letters, sixty or seventy years old. 

Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she 
stifled it directly, as if it were hardly right to regret the 
flight of time, or of life either. We agreed to look them 
over separately, each taking a different letter out of the 
same bundle, and describing its contents to the other,, be- 
fore destroying it. I never knew what sad work the read- 
ing of old letters was before that evening, though I 
could hardly tell why. The letters were as happy as let- 
ters could be — at least those early letters were. There 
was in them a vivid and intense sense of the present time, 
which seemed so strong and full, as if it could never pass 
away, and .as if the warm, living hearts that so expressed 
themselves could never die, and be as nothing to the 
sunny earth. I should have felt less melancholy, I believe, 
if the letters had been more so. I saw the tears stealing 
down the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty’s cheeks, and 
her spectacles often wanted wiping. I trusted at last 
that she would light the other candle, for my own eyes 
were rather dim, and I wanted more light to see the pale, 


OLD LETTERS 


97 


faded ink ; but no — even through her tears, she saw and 
remembered her little economical ways. 

The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied to- 
gether, and ticketed (in Miss Jenkyns’s handwriting) : 
“Letters interchanged between my ever honored father 
and my dearly beloved mother prior to their marriage in 
July, 1774.” I should guess that the rector of Cranford 
was about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those 
letters; and Miss Matty told me that her mother was just 
eighteen at the time of her w T edding. With my idea of 
the rector, derived from a picture in the dining parlor, 
stiff and stately, in a huge full-bottomed wig, with gown, 
cassock, and bands, and his hand upon a copy of the only 
sermon he ever published — it was strange to read these 
letters. They were full of eager, passionate ardor; short 
homely sentences, right fresh from the heart (very differ- 
ent from the grand Latinized, Johnsonian style of the 
printed sermon, preached before some judge at assize 
time). 1 His letters were a curious contrast to those of his 
girl-bride. She was evidently rather annoyed at his de- 
mands upon her for expressions of love, and could not 
quite understand what he meant by repeating the same 
thing over in so many different ways; but what she was 
quite clear about was her longing for a white “Paduasoy” 2 
— whatever that might be; and six or seven letters were 
principally occupied in asking her lover to use his in- 
fluence with her parents (who evidently kept her in good 
order) to obtain this or that article of dress, more espe- 
cially the white “Paduasoy.” He cared nothing how she 

*The assizes were sessions of court held periodically by visiting judges. 

2 A kind of silk originally made in Padua. Italy. 


98 


CRANFORD 


was dressed; she was always lovely enough for him, as 
he took pains to assure her, when she begged him to ex- 
press in his answers a predilection for particular pieces of 
finery, in order that she might show what he said to her 
parents. But at length he seemed to find out that she 
w'ould not be married till she had a trousseau to her mind ; 
and then he sent her a letter, which had evidently accom- 
panied a whole box full of finery, and in which he re- 
quested that she might be dressed in everything her heart 
desired. This was the first letter, ticketed in a frail, deli- 
cate hand, “From my dearest John.” Shortly afterward 
they were married — I suppose from the intermission in 
their correspondence. 

“We must burn them, I think,,” said Miss Matty, look- 
ing doubtfully at me. “No one will care for them when 
I am gone.” And one by one she dropped them into the 
middle of the fire; watching each blaze up, die out, and 
rise away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, up the 
chimney, before she gave up another to the same fate. 
The room was light enough now; but I, like her, was 
fascinated into watching the destruction of those letters, 
into which the honest warmth of a manly heart had been 
poured forth. 

The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, 
was endorsed : “Letter of pious congratulation and ex- 
hortation from my venerable grandfather to my beloved 
mother, on occasion of my own birth. Also some prac- 
tical remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the ex- 
tremities of infants, from my excellent grandmother.” 

The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture 
of the responsibilities of mothers,, and a warning against 


OLD LETTERS 


99 


the evils that were in the world, and lying in ghastly wait 
for the little baby of tw r o days old. His wife did not 
write, said the old gentleman, because he had forbidden 
it, she being indisposed with a sprained ankle, which (he 
said) quite incapacitated her from holding a pen. How- 
ever, at the foot of the page was a small “t.o.,” and on 
turning it over,, sure enough, there was a letter to “My 
dear, dearest Molly,” begging her, when she left her 
room, whatever she did, to go up stairs before going 
down ; 1 and telling her to wrap her baby’s feet up in 
flannel, and keep it w T arm by the Are, although it was 
summer, for babies were so tender. 

It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evi- 
dently exchanged with some frequency, between the young 
.mother and the grandmother, how the girlish vanity was 
being weeded out of her heart by love for her baby. The 
white “Paduasoy” figured again in the letters, with almost 
as much vigor as before. In one, it was being made into 
a christening cloak for the baby. It decked it when it 
went with its parents to spend a day or two at Arley Hall. 
"It added to its charms when it was “the prettiest little 
baby that ever was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could 
see her ! Without any parshality, I do think she will grow 
up a regular bewty!” I thought of Miss Jenkyns, gray, 
withered, and wrinkled ; and I wondered if her mother 
had known her in the courts of heaven ; and then I knew 
that she had, and that they stood there in angelic guise. 

There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters 
appeared. And then his wife had changed her mode of 

iln accordance with an old superstition that a baby should be carried 
upstairs before it is carried down. 


100 


CRANFORD 


endorsement. It was no longer from “My dearest John;” 
it was from “My honored Husband.” The letters were 
written on occasion of the publication of the same sermon 
which w r as represented in the picture. The preaching be- 
fore “My Lord Judge,” and the “publishing by request,” 
was evidently the culminating point — the event of his life. 
It had been necessary for him to go up to London to 
superintend it through the press. Many friends had 
to be called upon, and consulted before he could decide 
on any printer fit for so onerous a task; and at length it 
was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons were to have the 
honorable responsibility. The w r orthy rector seemed to be 
strung up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, for he 
could hardly write a letter to his wife without cropping 
out into Latin. I remember the end of one of his letters 
ran thus: “I shall ever hold the virtuous qualities of my 
Molly in remembrance, dum memor ipse mei, dum spiritus 
regit artusT 1 which, considering that the English of his 
correspondent was sometimes at fault in grammar,, and 
often in spelling, might be taken as a proof of how much 
he “idealized” his Molly; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to 
say: “People talk a great deal about idealizing nowadays, 
whatever that may mean.” But this was nothing to a fit 
of writing classical poetry, which soon seized him; in 
which his Molly figured away as “Maria.” The letter 
containing the carmen 2 was endorsed by her: “Hebrew 
verses sent me by my honored husband. I thowt to have 
had a letter about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., 
to send the poetry to Sir Peter Arley, as my husband de- 

i“While of myself I yet may think, while breath my body sways.” — Jineid 
IV, 336. 

2 A Latin, poem, especially a song. 


OLD LETTERS 


101 


sires.” And in a post-scriptum note in his handwriting, 
it was stated that the Ode had appeared in The Gentle- 
man s Magazine, December, 1782. 

Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by 
him as if they had been M. T. Ciceronis Epistola 1 ) were 
more satisfactory to an absent husband and father than 
his could ever have been to her. She told him how Deb- 
orah sewed her seam very neatly every day; and read to 
her in the books he had set her ; how she was a very 
“forrard,” good child, but would ask questions her mother 
could not answer; but how she did not let herself down 
by saying she did not know, but took to stirring the fire, 
or sending the “forrard” child on an errand. Matty was 
now the mother’s darling, and promised (like her sister 
at her age) to be a great beauty. 

I was reading this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled 
and sighed a little at the hope, so fondly expressed, that 
“little Matty might not be vain,, even if she were a 
beauty.” 

“I had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Miss Matilda, 
“and not a bad mouth.” And I saw her soon afterward 
adjust her cap and draw herself up. 

But to return to Mrs. Jenkyns’s letters. She told her 
husband about the poor in the parish ; what homely do- 
mestic medicines she had administered ; what kitchen physic 
she had sent. She had evidently held his displeasure as a 
rod in pickle over the heads of all the ne’er-do-wells. She 
asked for his directions about the cows and pigs; and did 
not always obtain them, as I have shown before. 

The kind old grandmother was dead, when a litttle boy 

*The letters of Marcus Tullius Cicero, the great Roman letter writer. 


102 


CRANFORD 


was hprn, soon after the publication of the sermon; but 
there was another letter of exhortation from the grand- 
father, more stringent and admonitory than ever, now that 
there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the 
world. He described all the various sins into which men 
might fall, until I wondered how any man ever came to 
a natural death. The gallows seemed as if it must have 
been the termination of the lives of most of the grand- 
father’s friends and acquaintance; and I was not sur- 
prised at the way in which he spoke of this life being “a 
vale of tears.” 

It seemed curious that I should never have heard of 
this brother before; but I concluded that he had died 
young; or else surely his name would have been alluded 
to by' his sisters. 

By and by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s let- 
ters. These Miss Matty did regret to burn. She said all 
the others had been only interesting to those who loved 
the writers; and that it seemed as if it would have hurt 
her to allow them to fall into the hands of strangers, who 
had not known her dear mother, and how good she was, 
although she did not always spell quite in the modern 
fashion ; but Deborah’s letters were so very superior ! Any 
one might profit by reading them. It was a long time 
since she had read Mrs. Chapone , 1 but she knew she used 
to think that Deborah could have said the same things 
quite as well; and as for Mrs. Carter ! 2 people thought a 
deal of her letters, just because she had writterf Epictetus, 

‘An English authoress, best known for "Letters on the Improvement of the 
Mind.” 

2 A friend of Dr. Johnson who wrote poems and miscellaneous articles. 


OLD LETTERS 


103 


but she was quite sure Deborah would never have made 
use of such a common expression as “I canna be fashed !” 1 

Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was 
evident. She would not let them be carelessly passed over 
with any quiet reading, and skipping, to myself. She took 
them from me,, and even lighted the second candle in 
order to read them aloud with a proper emphasis, and 
without stumbling over the big words. Oh dear; how I 
wanted facts instead of reflections, before those letters 
were concluded ! They lasted us two nights ; and I won’t 
deny that I made use of the time to think of many other 
things, and yet I was always at my post at the end of each 
sentence. 

The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and mother- 
in-law T , had all been tolerably short and pithy, written in 
a straight hand, with the lines very close together. Some- 
times the whole letter was contained on a mere scrap of 
paper. The paper was very yellow, and the ink very 
browm; some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made me 
observe) the old original post, with the stamp in the 
corner, representing a post-boy riding for life and twang- 
ing his horn. The letters of Mrs. Jenkyns and her 
mother were fastened with a great round red wafer; for 
it was before Miss Edgeworth’s Patronage had banished 
wafers from polite society. It was evident, from the 
tenor of what was said, that franks 2 were in great request, 
and were even used as a means of paying debts by needy 
members of Parliament. The rector sealed his epistles 
with an immense coat-of-arms, and showed, by the care 

1 Vexed. 

Signatures of some privileged person, which exempted letters from post- 
charges. 


104 


CRANFORD 


with which he had performed this ceremony, that he ex- 
pected they should be cut open, not broken by any thought- 
less or impatient hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns’s letters were 
of a later date in form and writing. She wrote on the 
square sheet, which we have learned to call old-fashioned. 
Her hand was admirably calculated, together with her use 
of many-syllabled words, to fill up a sheet, and then came 
the pride and delight of crossing. Poor Miss Matty got 
sadly puzzled with this, for the words gathered size like 
snowballs, and toward the end of her letter Miss Jenkyns 
used to become quite sesquipedalian. In one to her father, 
slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she had 
spoken of Herod, Tetrarch, of Idumea. Miss Matty 
read it “Herod Petrarch of Etruriae,” and was just as well 
pleased as if she had been right. 

I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in 
1805 that Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters, 
on occasion of her absence on a visit to some friends near 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These friends were intimate with 
the commandant of the garrison there, and heard from him 
of all the preparations that were being made to repel the 
invasion of Bonaparte, 1 which some people imagined might 
take place at the mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was 
evidently very much alarmed ; and the first part of her let- 
ters was often written in pretty intelligible English, con- 
veying particulars of the preparations which were made 
in the family with whom she was residing against the 
dreaded event; the bundles of clothes that were 'packed 
up ready for a flight to Alston Moor (a wild, hilly piece 

‘In 1805 Napoleon designed to invade England, but Nelson’s victory at 
Traialgar compelled him to give up the project. 


OLD LETTERS 


105 


of ground between Northumberland and Cumberland) ; 
the signal that was to be given for this flight, and for the 
simultaneous turning out of the volunteers under arms, 
which said signal was to consist (if I remember rightly) in 
ringing the church bells in a particular and ominous man- 
ner. One day, when Miss Jenkyns and her hosts were 
• at a dinner-party in Newcastle, this warning summons was 
actually given (not a very wise proceeding, if there be 
any truth in the moral attached to the fable of The Boy 
and the Wolf ; but so it was), and Miss Jenkyns, hardly 
recovered from her fright, wrote the next day to describe 
the sound, the breathless shock, the hurry and alarm ; 
and then, taking breath, she added: “How trivial, my dear 
father, do all our apprehensions of the last evening ap- 
pear, at the present moment, to calm and inquiring 
minds!” And here Miss Matty broke in with: “But, in- 
deed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or trifling at 
the time. I know I used to wake up in the night many 
a time and think I heard the tramp of the French en- 
tering Cranford. Many people talked of hiding them- 
selves in the salt mines; and meat would have kept capi- 
tally down there, only perhaps we should have been 
thirsty. And my father preached a whole set of sermons 
on the occasion ; one set in the mornings,, all about David 
and Goliath, to spirit up the people to fighting with spades 
or bricks, if need were ; and the other set in the after- 
noons, proving that Napoleon (that was another name 
for Bony, as we used to call him) was all the same as an 
Apollyon and Abaddon . 1 I remember, my father rather 

‘Apollyon is the Greek and Abaddon is the Hebrew name for the angel of 
the bottomless pit. — Cf. Revelations 9, 11. 


106 


CRANFORD 


thought he should be asked to print this last set, but the 
parish had, perhaps, had enough of them with hearing.” 

Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenk)ms (“poor Peter!” as 
Miss Matty began to call him) was at school at Shrews- 
bury by this time. The rector took up his pen, and rubbed 
up his Latin, once more to correspond with his boy. It 
was very clear that the lad’s were what are called show • 
letters. They were of a highly mental description, giving 
an account of his studies, and his intellectual hopes of 
various kinds, with an occasional quotation from the 
classics; but now and then the animal nature broke out 
in such a little sentence as this, evidently written in a 
trembling hurry, after the letter had been inspected : 
“Mother, dear, do send me a cake, and put plenty of citron 
in.” The “Mother, dear,” probably answered her boy in 
the form of cakes and “goody,” for there were none of 
her letters among this set; but a whole collection of the 
rector’s, to w T hom the Latin in his boy’s letters was 
like a trumpet to the old war-horse. I do not know much 
about Latin, certainly, and it is, perhaps, an ornamental 
language, but not very useful, I think — at least to judge 
from the bits I remember out of the rector’s letters. One 
was: “You have not got that town in your map of Ire- 
land ; but Bonus Bernardus non v'idet omnia / as the Pro- 
verbia say.” Presently it became very evident that “poor 
Peter” got himself into many scrapes. There were letters 
of stilted penitence to his father, for some wrong-doing; 
and among them all was a badly written, badly sealed, 
badly directed, blotted note: “My dear, dear,, dear, dearest 

1,1 The good Bernard does not see all things”: A Latin proverb about 
Bernard of Clairvaux, a monk of the twelfth century. 


OLD LETTERS 


107 


mother, I will be a better boy — I will, indeed ; but don’t, 
please, be ill for me, I am not worth it; but I will be 
good, darling mother.” 

Miss Matty could not speak for crying, after she had 
read this note. She gave it to me in silence, and then got 
up and took it to her sacred recesses in her own room, 
for fear, by any chance, it might get burned. “Poor 
Peter!” she said, “he was always in scrapes; he was too 
easy. They led him wrong, and then left him in the 
lurch. But he was too fond of mischief. He could never 
resist a joke. Poor Peter!” 


CHAPTER VI 


POOR PETER 

Poor Peter’s career lay before him rather pleasantly 
mapped out by kind friends, but Bonus Bernardus - non 
videt omnia , in this map too. He was to win honors at 
Shrewsbury school, and carry them thick to Cambridge, 
and after that a living awaited him, the gift of his god- 
father, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life was 
very different to what his friends had hoped and planned. 
Miss Matty told me all about it, and I think it was a 
relief to her when she had done so. 

He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote 
on all her children, though she was, perhaps, a little afraid 
of Deborah’s superior acquirements. Deborah was the 
favorite of her father, and when Peter disappointed him, 
she became his pride. The sole honor Peter brought away 
from Shrewsbury w r as the reputation of being the best 
good fellow that ever was, and of being the captain of the 
school in the art of practical joking. His father was dis- 
appointed, but set about remedying the matter in a manly 
way. He could not afford to send Peter to read with any 
tutor, but he could read with him himself; and Miss 
Matty told me much of the awful preparations in the 
way of dictionaries and lexicons that were made in her 
father’s study the morning Peter began. 


108 


POOR PETER 


109 


“My poor mother!” said she. “I remember how she 
used to stand in the hall, just near enough to the study 
door to catch the tone of my father’s voice. I could tell 
in a moment if all was going right, by her face. And it 
did go right for a long time.” 

“What went wrong at last?” said I. “That tiresome 
Latin, I dare say.” 

“No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favor 
with my father, for he worked up well for him. But he 
seemed to think that the Cranford people might be joked 
about, and made fun of,, and they did not like it; nobody 
does. He was always hoaxing them; ‘hoaxing’ is not a 
pretty word, my dear, and I hope you won’t tell your 
father I used it, for I should not like him to think that 
I was not choice in my language, after living with such 
a woman as Deborah. And be sure you never use it your- 
self. I don’t know how it slipped out of my mouth, ex- 
cept it was that I was thinking of poor Peter, and it was 
always his expression. But he was a very gentlemanly 
boy in many things. He was like dear Captain Brown in 
always being ready to help any old person or a child ; still, 
he did like joking and making fun ; and he seemed to think 
the old ladies in Cranford would believe anything. There 
were many old ladies living here then; we are principally 
ladies now, I know; but we are not so old as the ladies 
used to be when I was a girl. I could laugh to think of 
some of Peter’s jokes. No! my dear, I won’t tell you of 
them, because they might not shock you as they ought to 
do; and they were very shocking. He even took in my 
father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was 
passing through the town and wished to see the rector at 


110 


CRANFORD 


Cranford, ‘who had published that admirable Assize Ser- 
mon.’ Peter said he was. awfully frightened himself when 
he saw how my father took it all in, and, even offered to 
copy out all his Napoleon Bonaparte sermons for her — 
him, I mean — no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He told 
me he was more terrified than he ever was before, all the 
time my father was speaking. He did not think my father 
would have believed him; and yet, if he had not, it would 
have been a sad thing for Peter. As it was, he was none 
so glad of it, for my father kept him hard at work copy- 
ing out all those twelve Bonaparte sermons for the lady — 
that was for Peter himself, you know; he was the lady. 
And once, when he wanted to go fishing, Peter said, ‘Con- 
found the woman!’ — very bad language, my dear; but 
Peter was not always so guarded as he should have been ; 
my father was so angry with him it nearly frightened me 
out of my wits; and yet I could hardly keep from laugh- 
ing at the little curtsies Peter kept making, quite slyly, 
whenever my father spoke of the lady’s excellent taste and 
sound discrimination.” 

“Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said I. 

“Oh, no ! Deborah would have been too much shocked. 
No! no one knew but me. I wish I had always known 
of Peter’s plans; but sometimes he did not tell me. He 
used to say the old ladies in the town wanted something 
to talk about; but I don’t think they did. They had the 
St. James's Chronicle three times a week, just as we have 
now, and we have plenty to say; and I remember the clack- 
ing noise there always was when some of the ladies got 
together. But, probably, schoolboys talk more than ladies. 
At last there was a terrible sad thing happened.” Miss 


POOR PETER 


111 


Matty got up, and went to the door, and opened it; no 
one was there. She rang the bell for Martha; and when 
Martha came., her mistress told her to go for eggs to a 
farm at the other end of the town. 

“I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not 
afraid to go, are you?” 

“No, ma’am, not at all; Jim Hearn will be only too 
proud to go with me.” 

Miss Matty drew herself up, and, as soon as we were 
alone, she wished that Martha had more maidenly reserve. 

“We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can talk just 
as well by fire-light, you know. There! well! you see, 
Deborah had gone from home for a fortnight or so ; it was 
a very still, quiet day, I remember, overhead, and the lilacs 
were all in flower, so I suppose it was spring. My father 
had gone out to see some sick people in the parish ; I 
recollect seeing him leave the house, with his wig, and 
shovel-hat, and cane. What possessed our poor Peter 
I don’t know; he had the sweetest temper,, and yet he 
always seemed to like to plague Deborah. She never 
laughed at his jokes, and thought him ungenteel, and not 
careful enough about improving his mind ; and that vexed 
him. 

“Well ! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed him- 
self in her old gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the 
things she used to wear in Cranford, and was known by 
everywhere ; and he made the pillow into a little — you are 
sure you locked the door, my dear, for I should not like 
any one to hear — into — into — a little baby, with white 
long clothes. It was only, as he told me afterward, to 
make something to talk about in the town ; he never 


112 


CRANFORD 


thought of it as affecting Deborah. And he went and 
walked up and down in the Filbert walk — just half hid- 
den by the rails, and half seen ; and he cuddled his pillow, 
just like a baby; and talked to it all the nonsense people 
do. O dear! and my father came stepping stately up the 
street, as he always did; and what should he see but a 
little black crowd of people — I dare say as many as twenty 
— all peeping through his garden rails. So he thought, at 
first, they were only looking at a new rhododendron that 
was in full bloom, and that he was very proud of; and he 
walked slower,, that they might have more time to admire. 
And he wondered if he could make out a sermon from the 
occasion, and thought, perhaps, there was some relation 
between the rhododendrons and the lilies of the field. 
My poor father ! When he came nearer, he began to won- 
der that they did not see him ; but their heads were all so 
close together, peeping and peeping. My father was 
among them, meaning, he said, to ask them to walk into 
the garden with him, and admire the beautiful vegetable 
production, when, — oh, my dear! I tremble to think of 
it — he looked through the rails himself, and saw — I don’t 
know what he thought he saw, but old Clare told me his 
face went quite gray-white with anger, and his eyes blazed 
out under his frowning black brows ; and he spoke out— oh, 
so terribly ! — and bade them all stop where they were — 
not one of them to go, not one to stir a step; and, swift as 
light, he was in at the garden door, and down the Filbert 
walk, and seized hold of poor Peter, and tore his clothes 
off his back — bonnet, shawl, gown, and all — and threw 
the pillow among the people over the railings; and then 


POOR PETER 


113 


he was very, very angry indeed ; and before all the people 
he lifted up his cane, and flogged Peter! 

“My dear! that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, when all 
seemed going straight and well, broke my mother’s heart, 
and changed my father for life. It did, indeed. Old 
Clare said Peter looked as white as my father ; and stood 
as still as a statue to be flogged ; and my father struck 
hard ! When my father stopped to take breath, Peter said : 
‘Have you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, and still 
standing quite quiet. I don’t know what my father said, 
or if he said anything. But old Clare said Peter turned 
to where the people outside were, and made them a low 
bow, as grand and as grave as any gentleman, and then 
walked slowly into the house. I was in the storeroom, 
helping my mother to make cowslip-wine. I cannot abide 
the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; they turn me 
sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, 
looking as haughty as any man — indeed, looking like a 
man, not like a boy. ‘Mother!’ he said, ‘I am come to 
say God bless you forever.’ I saw his lips quiver as he 
spoke ; and I think he durst not say anything more loving, 
for the purpose that was in his heart. She looked at him 
rather frightened and wondering, and asked him what 
was to do? He did not smile or speak, but put his arms 
round her, and kissed her as if he did not know how to 
leave off; and before she could speak again he was gone. 
We talked it over, and could not understand it, and she 
bade me go and seek my father, and ask what it was all 
about. I found him walking up and down, looking very 
highly displeased. 


114 


CRANFORD 


“ ‘Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he 
richly deserved it.’ 

“I durst not ask any more questions. When I told my 
mother, she sat down, quite faint, for a minute. I re- 
member, a few days after, I saw the poor, withered 
cowslip-flowers thrown out to the leaf-heap, to decay and 
die there. There was no making of cowslip-wine that 
year at the rectory — nor, indeed, ever after. 

“Presently my mother went to my father. I know I 
thought of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus; for my 
mother was very pretty and delicate looking, and my 
father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus. Some time 
after, they came out together, and then my mother told 
me what had happened, and that she was going up to 
Peter’s room, at my father’s desire — though she was not 
to tell Peter this — to talk the matter over with him. But 
no Peter was there. We looked over the house; no Peter 
was there! Even my father, who had not liked to join in 
the search at first, helped us before long. The rectory was 
a very old house; steps up into a room, steps down into 
a room, all through. At first, my mother went calling 
low and soft — as if to reassure the poor boy — ‘Peter! 
Peter, dear! it’s only me;’ but, by and by, as the servants 
came back from the errands my father had sent them, in 
different directions, to find where Peter was — as we found 
he was not in the garden, nor the hayloft, nor anywhere 
about — my mother’s cry grew louder and wilder — ‘Peter! 
Peter, my darling! where are you?’ for then she felt and 
understood that that long kiss meant some sad kind of 
‘good-by.’ The afternoon went on — my mother never 
resting, but seeking again and again in every possible place 


POOR PETER 


115 


that had been looked into twenty times before; nay, that 
she had looked into over and over again herself. My 
father sat with his head in his hands, not speaking, except 
when his messengers came in, bringing no tidings ; then 
he lifted up his face so strong and sad, and told them to 
go again in some new direction. My mother kept passing 
from room to room, in and out of the house, moving noise- 
lessly, but never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst 
leave the house, which was the meeting place for all the 
messengers. At last (and it was nearly dark),, my father 
rose up. He took hold of my mother’s arm, as she came 
with wild, sad face, through one door, and quickly toward 
another. She started at the touch of his hand, for she 
had forgotten all in the world but Peter. 

“ ‘Molly!’ said he, ‘I did not think all this would hap- 
pen.’ He looked into her face for comfort — her poor face, 
all wild and white; for neither she nor my father had 
dared to acknowledge — much less act upon — the terror 
that was in their hearts, lest Peter should have made away 
with himself. My father saw no conscious look in his 
wife’s hot, dreary eyes, and he missed the sympathy that 
she had always been ready to give him — strong man as he 
was ; and at the dumb despair in her face, his tears began 
to flow. But when she saw this, a gentle sorrow came 
over her countenance, and she said, ‘Dearest John! don’t 
cry; come with me, and we’ll find him,’ almost as cheer- 
fully as if she knew where he was. And she took my 
father’s great hand in her little soft one, and led him 
along, the tears dropping, as he walked on that same un- 
ceasing, weary walk, from room to room, through house 
and garden. 


116 


CRANFORD 


“Oh! how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for 
crying, for now all seemed to depend on me. I wrote for 
Deborah to come home. I sent a message privately to that 
same Mr. Holbrook’s house — poor Mr. Holbrook! — you 
know who I mean. I don’t mean I sent a message to him, 
but I sent one that I could trust, to know if Peter was at 
his house. For at one time Mr. Holbrook was an occa- 
sional visitor at the rectory, — you know he was Miss 
Pole’s cousin, — and he had been very kind to Peter, and 
taught him how to fish — he was very kind to everybody, 
and I thought Peter might have gone off there. But Mr. 
Holbrook was from home, and Peter had never been seen. 
It was night now; but the doors were all wide open, and 
my father and mother walked on and on ; it was more than 
an hour since he had joined her, and I don’t believe they 
had ever spoken all that time. I was getting the parlor 
fire lighted, and one of the servants was preparing tea, 
for I wanted them to have something to eat and drink 
and warm them, when old Clare asked to speak to me. 

“ ‘I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss Matty. 
Shall we drag the ponds to-night, or wait for the morn- 
ing?’ 

“I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; 
and when I did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that 
new thought — our bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, 
and dead ! I remember the ring of my own laugh now. 

“The next day Deborah was at home before I was my- 
self again. She would not have been so weak to give way 
as I had done; but my screams (my horrible laughter had 
ended in crying) had roused my sweet dear mother, whose 
poor wandering wits were called back and collected, as 


POOR PETER 


117 


soon as a child needed her care. She and Deborah sat by 
my bedside; I knew by the looks of each that there had 
been no news of Peter — no awful, ghastly news, which was 
what I most had dreaded in my dull state between sleep- 
ing and waking. 

“The same result of all the searching had brought some- 
thing of the same relief to my mother, to whom I am sure 
the thought that Peter might even then be hanging dead 
in some of the familiar home-places had caused that never- 
ending walk of yesterday. Her soft eyes never were the 
same again after that; they had always a restless craving 
look, as if seeking for what they could not find. Oh ! it 
was an awful time ; coming down like a thunder-bolt on 
the still, sunny day, when the lilacs were all in bloom.” 

“Where was Mr. Peter?” said I. 

“He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was 
war then ; and some of the king’s ships lay off the mouth 
of the Mersey; and they were only too glad to have a fine 
likely boy such as him (five foot nine he was) come to 
offer himself. The captain wrote to my father, and Peter 
wrote to my mother. Stay ! those letters will be some- 
where here.” 

We lighted the candle, and found the captain’s letter, 
and Peter’s too. And we also found a little simple begging 
letter from Mrs. Jenkvns to Peter, addressed to him at 
the house of an old school-fellow, whither she fancied he 
might have gone. They had returned it unopened ; and 
unopened it had remained ever since,, having been inad- 
vertently put by among the other letters of that time. 
This is it: 


118 


CRANFORD 


“My Dearest Peter: You did not think we should 
be so sorry as we are, I know, or you would never have 
gone away. You are too good. Your father sits and j 
sighs till my heart aches to hear him. He cannot hold up j 
his head for grief; and yet he only did what he thought 
was right. Perhaps he has been too severe, and perhaps i 
have not been kind enough ; but God knows how we love • 
you, my dear only boy. Don looks so sorry you are gone. 
Come back, and make us happy, who love you so much. 

I know you will come back.” 

But Peter did not come back. That spring day was 
the last time he ever saw his mother’s face. The writer 
of the letter — the last — the only person who had ever seen 
what was written in it, was dead long ago; and I, a - 
stranger, not born at the time when this occurrence took 
place, was the one to open it. 

The captain’s letter summoned the father and mother 
to Liverpool instantly, if they wished to see their boy; 
and by some of the wild chances of life, the captain’s let- 
ter had been detained somewhere, somehow. 

Miss Matty went on: “And it was race-time and all 
the post-horses at Cranford were gone to the races; but 
my father and mother set off in our own gig — and oh ! my 
dear, they were too late — the ship was gone! And now, 
read Peter’s letter to my mother!” 

It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his pew 
profession,, and a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of 
the people at Cranford ; but ending with a passionate en- 
treaty that she would come and see him before he left 
the Mersey: “Mother! we may go into battle. I hope we 
shall, and lick those French; but I must see you again 
before that time.” 


POOR PETER 


119 


“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; “too late!” 

We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of 
those sad, sad words. At length I asked Miss Matty to 
tell me how her mother bore it. 

“Oh !” she said, “she was patience itself. She had 
never been strong, and this weakened her terribly. My 
father used to sit looking at her, far more sad than she 
was. He seemed as if he could look at nothing else when 
she was by; and he was so humble — so very gentle now. 
He would, perhaps, speak in his old way — laying down 
the law, as it were — and then, in a minute or two, he 
would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, and 
ask us, in a low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. I 
did not wonder at his speaking so to Deborah,, for she 
was so clever; but I could not bear to hear him talking 
so to me. 

“But, you see, he saw what we did not — that it was 
killing my mother. Yes, killing her — (put out the can- 
dle, my dear; I can talk better in the dark) — for she was 
but a frail woman, and ill fitted to stand the fright and 
shock she had gone through ; and she would smile at him 
and comfort him, not in words, but in her looks and 
tones, which were always cheerful when he was there. 
And she would speak of how she thought Peter stood a 
good chance of being admiral very soon — he was so 
brave and clever; and how she thought of seeing him in 
his navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals wore; 
and how much more fit he was to be a sailor than a 
clergyman; and all in that way, just to make my father 
think she was quite glad of what came of that unlucky 
morning’s work, and the flogging which was always in 


120 


CRANFORD 


his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the bitter, 
bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, 
as she grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in, when 
Deborah or me was by, and would give us message after 
message for Peter — (his ship had gone to the Mediter- 
ranean, or somewhere down there,, and then he was or- 
dered off to India, and there was no overland route then) ; 
but she still said that no one knew where their death lay 
in wait, and that we were not to think hers was near. 
We did not think it, but we knew it, as we saw her fading 
away. 

“Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, when 
in all likelihood I am so near seeing her again. 

“And only think, love! the very day after her death — 
for she did not live quite a twelvemonth after Peter went 
away — the very day after — came a parcel for her from 
India — from her poor boy. It was a large, soft, white 
India shawl, with just a little narrow border all round; 
just what my mother would have liked. 

“We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat 
with her hand in his all night long; so Deborah took it 
in to him, and Peter’s letter to her, and all. At first he 
took no notice; and we tried to make a kind of light, 
careless talk about the shawl, opening it out and admiring 
it. Then, suddenly, he got up and spoke: ‘She shall be 
buried in it,’ he said; ‘Peter shall have that comfort; and 
she would have liked it.’ 

“Well! perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could 
we do or say? One gives people in grief their own way. 
He took it up and felt it; ‘It is just such a shawl as she 
wished for when she was married, and her mother did 


POOR PETER 


121 


not give it her. I did not know of it till after, or she 
should have had it — she should ; but she shall have it 
flow.’ 

“My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was 
always pretty, and now she looked fair, and waxen, and 
young — younger than Deborah, as she stood trembling and 
shivering by her. We decked her in the long, soft folds; 
she lay,, smiling, as if pleased ; and people came — all 
Cranford came — to beg to see her, for they had loved her 
dearly — as well they might; and the country-women 
brought posies; old Clare’s wife brought some white 
violets, and begged they might lie on her breast. 

“Deborah said to me the day of my mother’s funeral, 
that if she had a hundred offers, she never would marry 
and leave my father. It was not very likely she would 
have so many — I don’t know that she had one; but it was 
not less to her credit to say so. She was such a daughter 
to my father, as I think there never was before, or since. 
His eyes failed him, and she read book after book, and 
wrote, and copied, and was always at his service in any 
parish business. She could do many more things than 
my poor mother could ; she even once wrote a letter to 
the bishop for my father. But he missed my mother 
sorely; the whole parish noticed it. Not that he was less 
active; I think he was more so, and more patient in help- 
ing every one. I did all I could to set Deborah at 
liberty to be with him ; for I knew I was good for little, 
and that my best work in the world was to do odd jobs 
quietly, and set others at libertj'. But my father was a 
changed man.” 

“Did Mr. Peter ever come home?” 


122 


CRANFORD 


“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not 
get to be admiral. And he and my father were such 
friends! My father took him into every house in the 
parish, he was so proud of him. He never walked out 
without Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah used to 
smile (I don’t think we ever laughed again after my 
mother’s death), and say she was quite put in a corner. 
Not but what my father always wanted her when there 
was letter writing, or reading to be done, or anything to 
be settled.” 

“And then?” said I, after a pause. 

“Then Peter went to sea again ; and, by and by, my 
father died, blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for 
all she had been to him; and, of course, our circumstances 
were changed; and, instead of living at the rectory, and 
keeping three maids and a man, we had to come to this 
small house, and be content with a servant-of-all-work ; 
but, as Deborah used to say, we have alw'ays lived gen- 
teelly, even if circumstances have compelled us to sim- 
plicity. Poor Deborah !” 

“And Mr. Peter?” asked I. 

“Oh, there was some great war in India — I forget 
what they call it — and we have never heard of Peter since 
then. I believe he is dead myself ; and it sometimes fidgets 
me that we have never put on mourning for him. And 
then, again, when I sit by myself, and all the house is 
still, I think I hear his step coming up the street, and 
my heart begins to flutter and beat ; but the sound always 
goes past — and Peter never comes. 

“That’s Martha back? No! 77 1 go, my dear; I can al- 
ways find my way in the dark, you know. And a blow 


POOR PETER 


123 


of fresh air at the door will do my head good, and it’s 
rather got a trick of aching.” 

So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give 
the room a cheerful appearance against her return. 

“Was it Martha?”, asked I. 

“Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard- 
such a strange noise, just as I was opening the door.” 

“Where?” I asked, for her eyes were round with af- 
fright. 

“In the street — just outside — it sounded like — ” 

“Talking?” I put in, as she hesitated a little. 

“No! kissing—” 


CHAPTER VII 


VISITING 


One morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our 'work — 
it was before twelve o’clock, and Miss Matty had not yet 
changed the cap with yellow ribbons, that had been Miss 
Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now wearing 
out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of 
Mrs. Jamieson’s at all times when she expected to be 
seen — Martha came up and asked if Miss Betty Barker 
might speak to her mistress. Miss Matty assented, and 
quickly disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, while 
Miss Barker came up-stairs; but, as she had forgotten 
her spectacles, and was rather flurried by the unusual time 
of the visit, I was not surprised to see her return with 
one cap on the top of the other. She was quite uncon- 
scious of it herself, and looked at us with bland satis- 
faction. Nor do I think Miss Barker perceived it, for, 
putting aside the little circumstance that she was not so 
young as she had been, she was very much absorbed in 
her errand., which she delivered herself of with an op- 
pressive modesty that found vent in endless apologies. 

Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at 
Cranford, who had officiated in Mr. Jenkyns’s time. She 
and her sister had had pretty good situations as lady’s- 


124 


VISITING 


125 


maids, and had saved up money enough to set up a milli- 
ner’s shop, which had been patronized by the ladies in 
the neighborhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would oc- 
casionally give Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap 
of hers, which they immediately copied and circulated 
among the elite of Cranford. I say the elite, for Miss 
Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and piqued 
themselves upon their “aristocratic connection.” They 
would not sell their caps and ribbons to any one without 
a pedigree. Many a farmer’s wife or daughter turned 
away huffed from Miss Barkers’ select millinery, and 
went rather to the universal shop, where the profits of 
brown soap and moist sugar enabled the proprietor to go 
straight to (Paris, he said, until he found his customers 
too patriotic and John Bullish to wear what the Moun- 
seers wore) London; where, as he often told his custom- 
ers, Queen Adelaide 1 had appeared, only the very week 
before, in a cap exactly like the one he showed them, 
trimmed with yellow and blue ribbons, and had 'been 
complimented by King William on the becoming nature 
of her head-dress. 

Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth., and 
did not approve of miscellaneous customers, throve not- 
withstanding. They were self-denying, good people. 
Many a time have I seen the eldest of them (she that 
had been maid to Mrs. Jamieson) carrying out some 
delicate mess to a poor person. They only aped their 
betters in having “nothing to do” with the class im- 
mediately below theirs. And when Miss Barker died, 
their profits and income were found to be such that Miss 

iWife of King William IV, who died in 1837. 


126 


CRANFORD 


Betty was justified in shutting up shop and retiring from 
business. She also (as I think I have before said) set up 
her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford, almost as 
decided as setting up a gig is among some people. She 
dressed finer than any lady in Cranford ; and we did not 
wonder at it; for it was understood that she was wearing 
out all the bonnets and caps and outrageous ribbons, 
which had once formed her stock in trade. It was five 
or six years since she had given up shop ; so in any other 
place than Cranford her dress might have been considered 
passee. 

And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss 
Matty to tea at her house on the following Tuesday. She 
gave me also an impromptu invitation, as I happened to 
be a visitor; though I could see she had a little fear lest, 
since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he might 
have engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,” and so 
dragged his family down out of “aristocratic society.” 
She prefaced this invitation with so many apologies, that 
she quite excited my curiosity. “Her presumption” was 
to be excused. What had she been doing? She seemed 
so overpowered by it, I could only think that she had been 
writing to Queen Adelaide, to ask for a receipt for wash- 
ing lace; but the act which she so characterized was only 
an invitation she had carried to her sister’s former mis- 
tress, Mrs. Jamieson. “Her former occupation con- 
sidered, could Miss Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! 
thought I, she has found out that double cap, and is going 
to rectify Miss Matty’s head-dress. No! it was simply 
to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me. Miss 
Matty bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the 


VISITING 


127 


graceful action, she did not feel the uftusual weight and 
extraordinary height of her head-dress. But I do not 
think she did; for she recovered her balance, and went on 
talking to Miss Betty in a kind, condescending manner, 
very different from the fidgety way she would have had, 
if she had suspected how singular her appearance was. 

“Mrs. Jamieson is coming, I think you said?” asked 
Miss Matty. 

“Yes. Mrs. Jamieson most kindly and condescend- 
ingly said she would be happy to come. One little stipu- 
lation she made, that she should bring Carlo. I told her 
that if I had a weakness, it was for dogs.” 

“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was 
thinking of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would 
not be available as a partner. 

“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not 
think of asking her until I had asked j r ou, madam — the 
rector’s daughter, madam. Believe me, I do not forget 
the situation my father held under jours.” 

“And Mrs. Forrester, of course?” 

“And Mrs. Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to 
her before I went to Miss Pole. Although her circum- 
stances are changed, madam, she was born a Tyrrell, and 
we can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of Bigelow 


Hall.” 

M iss Matty cared much more for the little circum- 
stance of her being a very good card plaj er. 

'r “Mrs. Fitz-Adam — I suppose — ” 

! “No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs. 
Jamieson would not, I think, like to meet Mrs. Fitz- 
Adam. I have the greatest respect for Mrs. Fitz-Adam 


128 


CRANFORD 


— but I cannot think her fit society for such ladies as 
Mrs. Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns.” 

Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Mi$s Matty, and 
pursed up her mouth. She looked at me with sidelong 
dignity, as much as to say, although a retired milliner, 
she was no democrat, and understood the difference of 
ranks. 

“May I beg you to come as near half-past six, to my 
little dwelling, as possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs. Jamie- 
son dines at five, but has kindly promised not to delay her 
visit beyond that time — half-past six.” And with a 
swimming curtsy Miss Betty Barker took her leave. 

My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from 
Miss Pole, who usually came to call on Miss Matilda 
after any event — or indeed in sight of any event — to talk 
it over with her. 

“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select 
few,” said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared 
notes. 

“Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs. Fitz-Adam.” 

Now Mrs. Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the 
Cranford surgeon, whom I have named before. Their 
parents were respectable farmers, content with their sta- 
tion. The name of these good people was Hoggins. Mr. 
Hoggins was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked the 
name, and considered it coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, 
if he changed it to Piggins it would not be much better. 
We had hoped to discover a relationship between him 
and that Marchioness of Exeter whose name was Molly 
Hoggins; but the man, careless of his own interests, ut- 
terly ignored and denied any such relationship; although, 


VISITING 


129 


as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had a sister called 
Mary, and the same Christian names were very apt to run 
in families. 

Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr. Fitz- 
Adam, she disappeared from the neighborhood for many 
years. She did not move in a sphere in Cranford society 
sufficiently high to make any of us care to know w r hat 
Mr. Fitz-Adam was. He died and w r as gathered to his 
fathers, without our ever having thought about him at 
all. And then Mrs. Fitz-Adam reappeared in Cranford, 
“as bold as a lion,” Miss Pole said, a w’ell-to-do widow, 
dressed in rustling black silk, so soon after her husbands 
death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified in the remark 
she made, that “bombazine would have showm a deeper 
sense of her loss.” 

I remember the convocation of ladies, who assembled 
to decide whether or not Mrs. Fitz-Adam should be called 
upon by the old blue-blooded inhabitants of Cranford. 
She had taken a large rambling house, which had been 
usually considered to confer a patent of gentility upon its 
tenant ; because, once upon a time, seventy or eighty years 
before, the spinster daughter of an earl had resided in it. 
I am not sure if the inhabiting this house was not also 
believed to convey some unusual power of intellect; for 
the earl’s daughter, Lady Jane, had a sister, Lady Anne, 
who had married a general officer, in the time of the 
American war; and this general officer had written one 
or two comedies, which w r ere still acted on the London 
boards; and which, when we saw them advertised,, made 
us all draw up, and feel that Drury Lane was paying a 
very pretty compliment to Cranford. Still, it was not 


130 


CRANFORD 


at all a settled thing that Mrs. Fitz-Adam was to be 
visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with her, 
something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of 
gentility went out too. As Miss Pole observed, “As most 
of the ladies of good family in Cranford were elderly 
spinsters, or widows without children, if we did not 
relax a little, and become less exclusive, by and by we 
should have no society at all.” 

Mrs. Forrester continued on the same side. 

“She had always understood that Fitz meant some- 
thing aristocratic; there was Fitz-Roy — she thought that 
some of the king’s children had been called Fitz-Roy; and 
there was Fitz-Clarence now — they were the children of 
dear, good King William the Fourth. Fitz-Adam — it 
was a pretty name; and she thought it very probably 
meant ‘Child of Adam.’ No one who had not some good 
blood in their veins would dare to be called Fitz; there 
was a deal in a name — she had had a cousin who spelt 
his name with two little ff’s — ffoulkes; and he always 
looked down upon capital letters, and said they belonged 
to lately-invented families. She had been afraid he would 
die a bachelor, he was so very choice. When he met with 
a Mrs. ffaringdon, at a watering-place, he took to her 
immediately; and^a very pretty, genteel woman she was — 
a widow with a very good fortune; and ‘my cousin,’ Mr. 
ffoulkes, married her; and it was aH owing to her two 
little jfs.” 

Mrs. Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting 
with a Mr. Fitz-anything in Cranford, so that could not 
have been her motive for settling there. Miss Matty 
thought it might have been the hope of being admitted in 


VISITING 


131 


the society of the place, which would certainly be a very 
agreeable rise for ci-devant Miss Hoggins ; and if this had 
been her hope, it would be cruel to disappoint her. 

So everybody called upon Mrs. Fitz-Adam — everybody 
but Mrs. Jamieson, who used to show how’ honorable she 
was by never seeing Mrs. Fitz-Adam, when they met at 
the Cranford parties. There would be only eight or ten 
ladies in the room, and Mrs. Fitz-Adam was the largest 
of all, and she invariably used to stand up when Mrs. 
Jamieson came in, and curtsy very low to her whenever 
she turned in her direction — so low, in fact, that I think 
Mrs. Jamieson must have looked at the w r all above her, 
for she never moved a muscle of her face, no more than 
if she had not seen her. Still Mrs. Fitz-Adam persevered. 

The spring evenings w T ere getting bright and long, 
when three or four ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker’s 
door. Do you know what a calash is? It is a covering 
worn over caps, not unlike the heads fastened on old- 
fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so large. 
This kind of head-gear always made an awful impression 
on the children in Cranford ; and now two or three left off 
their play in the quiet, sunny little street, and gathered,, 
in wondering silence, round Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and 
m) 7 self. We were silent,, too, so that we could hear loud, 
suppressed whispers, inside Miss Barker’s house. “Wait, 
Peggy ! wait till I’ve run up-stairs, and washed my hands. 
When I cough, open the door; I’ll not be a minute.” 

And, true enough, it was not a minute before we 
heard a noise, between a sneeze and a crow ; on which the 
door flew open. Behind it stood a round-eyed maiden,, 
all aghast at the honorable company of calashes, w r ho 


132 


CRANFORD 


marched in without a word. She recovered presence of 
mind enough to usher us into a small room, which had 
been the shop, but was now converted into a temporary 
dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook ourselves, 
and arranged our features before the glass into a sweet 
and gracious company-face ; and then, bowing backward 
with “After you, ma’am,” we allowed Mrs. Forrester to 
take precedence up the narrow staircase that led to Miss 
Barker’s drawing-room. There she sat, as stately and 
composed as though we had never heard that odd-sounding 
cough, from which her throat must have been even then 
sore and rough. Kind, gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs. For- 
rester was immediately conducted to the second place of 
honor — a seat arranged something like Prince Albert’s,, 
near the queen’s — good, but not so good. The place of 
preeminence was, of course, reserved for the Honorable 
Mrs. Jafnieson, who presently came panting up the stairs 
— Carlo rushing round her on her progress, as if he meant 
to trip her up. 

And now, Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy 
woman! She stirred the fire, and shut the door, and sat 
as near to it as she could, quite on the edge of her chair. 
When Peggy came in, tottering under the weight of the 
tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest 
Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently. She and 
her mistress were on very familiar terms in their every- 
day intercourse, and Peggy wanted now to make several 
little confidences to her, which Miss Barker was on thorns 
to hear; but which she thought it her duty, as a lady, to 
repress. So she turned away from all Peggy’s asides and 
signs; but she made one or two very mal-apropos answers 


VISITING 


133 


to what was said ; and at last, seized with a bright idea, 
she exclaimed, “Poor sweet Carlo! I’m forgetting him. 
Come down-stairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall 
have its tea, it shall.” 

In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as 
before; but I thought she had forgotten to give the “poor 
ittie doggie” anything to eat, judging by the avidity with 
which he swallowed down chance pieces of cake. The 
tea-tray was abundantly loaded. I was pleased to see it, 
I w 7 as so hungry ; but I was afraid the ladies present might 
think it vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have 
done at their own houses; but somehow the heaps disap^ 
peared here. I saw Mrs. Jamieson eating' seed-cake, 
slowly and considerately, as she did everything; 'and I 
was rather surprised, for I knew she had told us, on the 
occasion of her last party, that she never had it in her 
house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She al- 
ways gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs. Jamieson 
was kindly indulgent to Miss Barker’s want of knowledge 
of the customs of high life; and, to spare her feelings, ate 
three large pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, ruminating 
expression of countenance, not unlike a cow’s. 

After tea there was some little demur and difficult) 7 . 
We were six in number; four could play at Preference, 
and for the other two there was Cribbage. But all, ex- 
cept myself (I was rather afraid of the Cranford ladies 
at cards, for it w r as the most earnest and serious business 
they ever engaged in),, were anxious to be of the “pool.” 
Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not know 
Spadille from Manille , 1 was evidently hankering to take 

1 Names of cards in the game. 


13 + 


CRANFORD 


a hand. The dilemma was soon put an end to by a singu- 
lar kind of noise. If a baron’s daughter-in-law could ever 
be supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs. Jamieson 
did so then ; for, overcome by the heat of the room, and 
inclined to doze by nature, the temptation of that very 
comfortable armchair had been too much for her, and 
Mrs. Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened 
her eyes with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously 
smiled upon us; but, by-and-by, even her benevolence was 
not equal to this exertion, and she was sound asleep. 

“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss Barker, 
at the card-table, to her three opponents, whom, notwith- 
standing her ignorance of the game, she was “basting” 
most unmercifully, “very gratifying indeed, to see how 
completely Mrs. Jamieson feels at home in my poor little 
dwelling; she could not have paid me a greater compli- 
ment.” 

M iss Barker provided me with some literature, in the 
shape of three or four handsomely bound fashion-books 
ten or twelve years old, observing, as she put a little table 
and a candle for my especial benefit, that she knew young 
people liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay and snorted, 
and started, at his mistress’s feet. He, too, was quite at 
home. 

The card-table was an animated scene to watch ; four 
ladies’ heads, with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meet- 
ing over the middle of the table, in their eagerness to 
whisper quick enough and loud enough ; and every now 
and then came Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if you please, 
hush! Mrs. Jamieson is asleep.” 

It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs. For- 


VISITING 


135 


Tester’s deafness and Mrs. Jamieson’s sleepiness. But 
Miss Barker managed her arduous task well. She re- 
peated the whisper to Mrs. Forrester, distorting her face 
considerably, in order to show, by the motions of her lips, 
what was said, and then she smiled kindly all round at us, 
and murmured to herself, “Very gratifying, indeed ; I 
wish my poor sister had been alive to see this day.” 

Presently the door was thrown wide open ; Carlo started 
to his feet, with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs. Jamieson 
awoke; or, perhaps, she had not been asleep — as she said 
almost directly, the room had been so light she had been 
glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening with 
great interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversa- 
tion. Peggy came in once more, red with importance. 
Another tray! “Oh, gentility!” thought I, “can you en- 
dure this last shock!” For Miss Barker had ordered 
(nay, I doubt not, prepared, although she did say, “Why! 
Peggy, what have you brought us?” and looked pleasantly 
surprised at the unexpected pleasure) all sorts of good 
things for supper — scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, jelly, 
a dish called “little Cupids” (which was in great favor 
with the Cranford ladies; although too expensive to be 
given, except on solemn and state occasions — macaroons 
sopped in brandy, I should have called it, if I had not 
known its more refined and classical name). In short, 
we were evidently to be feasted with all that was sweetest 
and best; and we thought it best to submit gracefully, 
even at the cost of our gentility — which never ate suppers 
in general, but which, like most non-supper-eaters, was 
particularly hungry on all special occasions. 

Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I dare say, 


136 


CRANFORD 


been made acquainted with the beverage they call cherry- 
brandy. We none of us had ever seen such a thing, and 
rather shrunk back when she proffered it us — “just a lit- 
tle, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you 
know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very whole- 
some.” We all shook our heads like female mandarins; 
but at last Mrs. Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, 
and we followed her lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, 
though so hot and so strong that we thought ourselves 
bound to give evidence that we w r ere not accustomed to 
such things, by coughing terribly — almost as strangely as 
Miss Barker had done, before we were admitted by Peggy. 

“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she put down her 
empty glass; “I do believe there’s spirit in it.” 

“Only a little drop — just necessary to make it keep!” 
said Miss Barker. “You know we put brandy-paper over 
preserves to make them keep. I often feel tipsy myself 
from eating damson tart.” 

I question whether damson tart would have opened 
Mrs. Jamieson’s heart as the cherry-brandy did ; but she 
told us of a coming event, respecting which she had been 
quite silent till that moment. 

“My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay 
with me.” 

There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a pause. 
Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness 
to appear in the presence of a baron’s widow; for, of 
course, a series of small festivals were always held in Cran- 
ford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends’ 
houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the present 
occasion. 


VISITING 


137 


Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were an- 
nounced. Mrs. Jamieson had the sedan chair, which had 
squeezed itself into Miss Barker’s narrow lobby with 
some difficulty; and most literally stopped the way. It 
required some skillful maneuvering on the part of the old 
chairmen (shoemakers by day; but, when summoned to 
carry the sedan, dressed up in a strange old livery— long 
great-coats, with small capes, coeval with the sedan, and 
similar to the dress of the class in Hogarth’s pictures) to 
edge, and back, and try at it again, and finally to succeed 
in carrying their burden out of Miss Barker’s front door. 
Then we heard their quick pitapat along the quiet little 
street, as we put on our calashes, and pinned up our 
gowns ; Miss Barker hovering about us with offers of help ; 
which, if she had not remembered her former occupation, 
and wished us to forget it^ would have been much more 
pressing. 


CHAPTER VIII 


“your ladyship" 

Early the next morning — directly after twelve — Miss 
Pole made her appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some very 
trifling piece of business was alleged as, a reason for the 
call; but there was evidently something behind. At last 
out it came. 

“By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely ignorant; but, 
do you really know, I am puzzled how we ought to ad- 
dress Lady Glenmire. Do you say, ‘your ladyship,’ where 
you would say, ‘you’ to a common person? I have been 
puzzling all morning; and are we to say ‘my lady,’ instead 
of ‘ma’am’? Now, you knew Lady Arley — will you tell 
me the correct way of speaking to the Peerage?” 

Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she 
put them on again — but how Lady Arley was addressed 
she could not remember. 

“It is so long ago!” she said. “Dear! dear! how stupid 
I am! I don’t think I ever saw her more than twice. I 
know we used to call Sir Peter, ‘Sir Peter,’ but he came 
much oftener to see us than Lady Arley did. Deborah 
would have known in a minute. ‘My lady — your lady- 
ship.’ It sounds very strange and as if it was not natural. 
I never thought of it before; but, now you have named it, 
I am all in a puzzle.” 


138 


YOUR LADYSHIP” 


139 


It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise 
decision from Miss Matty, who got more bewildered 
every moment, and more perplexed as to etiquettes of ad- 
dress. 

“Well, I really think,” said Mfss Pole, “I had better 
just go and tell Mrs. Forrester about our little difficulty. 
One sometimes grows nervous; and yet one would not 
have Lady Glenmire think we were quite ignorant of the 
etiquettes of high life in Cranford.” 

“And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as 
you come back, please ; and tell me what you decide upon ? 
Whatever you and Mrs. Forrester fix upon will be quite 
right, I’m sure. ‘Lady Arley,,’ ‘Sir Peter,’ ” said Miss 
Matty to herself, trying to recall the old forms of words. 

“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I. 

“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr. Jamieson — that’s Mrs. 
Jamieson’s late husband, you know — widow of his eldest 
brother. Mrs. Jamieson was a Miss Walker, daughter 
of Governor Walker. ‘Your ladyship.’ My dear, if they 
fix on that way of speaking, you must let me practice a 
little on you first, for I shall feel so foolish and hot, say- 
ing it the first time to Lady Glenmire.” 

It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs. Jamie- 
son came on a very unpolite errand. I notice that apa- 
thetic people have more quiet impertinence than any 
others; and Mrs. Jamieson came now to insinuate pretty 
plainly, that she did not particularly wish that the Cran- 
ford ladies should call upon her sister-in-law. I can 
hardly say how she made this clear; for I grew very in- 
dignant and warm, while with slow deliberation she was 
explaining her wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true lady 


140 


CRANFORD 


herself, could hardly understand the feeling which made 
Mrs. Jamieson wish to appear to her noble sister-in-law 
as if she only visited “county” families . 1 Miss Matty re- 
mained puzzled and perplexed long after I had found out 
the object of Mrs. Jamieson’s visit. 

When she did understand the drift of the honorable 
lady’s call, it was pretty to see with what quiet dignity 
she received the intimation thus uncourteously given. She 
was not in the least hurt — she was of too gentle a spirit 
for that; nor was she exactly conscious of disapproving 
of Mrs. Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something of 
this feeling in her mind, I am sure, which made her pass 
from the subject to others, in a less flurried and more com- 
posed manner than usual. Mrs. Jamieson was, indeed., 
the more flurried of the two, and I could see she was 
glad to take her leave. 

A little while afterward, Miss Pole returned, red and 
indignant. “Well! to be sure! You’ve had Mrs. Jamie- 
son here, I find from Martha; and we are not to call on 
Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs. Jamieson, half way 
between here and Mrs. Forrester’s, and she told me; she 
took me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. I wish I 
had thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare 
say I shall to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the 
widow of a Scotch baron, after all! I went on to look 
at Mrs. Forrester’s Peerage, to see who this lady w T as, 
that is to be kept under a glass case: widow of a Scotch 
peer — never sat in the House of Lords — and as poor as 
Job, I dare say; and she — fifth daughter of some Camp- 
bell or other. You are the daughter of a rector, at any 


>1. e., the landed gentry. 


YOUR LADYSHIP” 


141 


rate, and related to the Arleys; and Sir Peter might have 
been Viscount Arley, every one says.” 

Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. 
That lady, usually so kind and good-humored, was now r in 
a full flow of anger. 

“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be 
quite ready,” said she, at last letting out the secret which 
gave sting to Mrs. Jamieson’s intimation. “Mrs. Jamie- 
son shall see if it’s so easy to get me to make fourth at a 
pool, when she has none of her fine Scotch relations with 
her!” 

In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which 
Lady Glenmire appeared in Cranford, we sedulously 
talked together, and turned our backs on Mrs. Jamieson 
and her guest. If we might not call on her, we would not 
even look at her, though we were dying with curiosity to 
know what she was like. We had the comfort of question- 
ing Martha in the afternoon. Martha did not belong to a 
sphere of society whose observation could be an implied 
compliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha had made 
good use of her eyes. 

“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs. Jamieson, 
you mean ? I thought you would like more to know how 
young Mrs. Smith was dressed, her being a bride.” (Mrs. 
Smith was the butcher’s wife.) 

Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we cared 
about a Mrs. Smith;” but was silent as Martha resumed 
her speech. 

“The little lady in Mrs. Jamieson’s pew had on, ma’am, 
rather an old black silk, and a shepherd’s plaid cloak, 
ma’am, and very bright black eyes she had, ma’am, and a 


142 


CRANFORD 


pleasant, sharp face; not over young, ma’am, but yet, I 
should guess, younger than 'Mrs. Jamieson herself. She 
looked up and down the church, like a bird, and nipped 
up her petticoats, when she came out, as quick and sharp as 
ever I see. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, she’s more like 
Mrs. Deacon, at the Coach and Horses , 1 nor any one.” 

“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, “that’s not respect- 
ful.” 

“Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, I’m sure; but Jim 
Hearn said so as well. He said she was just such a sharp, 
stirring sort of a body — ” 

“Lady,” said Miss Pole. 

“Lady — as Mrs. Deacon.” 

Another Sunday passed away, and w r e still averted our 
eyes from Mrs. Jamieson and her guest, and made remarks 
to ourselves that we thought were very severe — almost 
too much so. Miss Matty was evidently uneasy at our 
sarcastic manner of speaking. 

Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that 
Mrs. Jamieson’s was not the gayest, liveliest house in the 
world; perhaps Mrs. Jamieson had found out that most 
of the county families were in London,, and that those 
who remained in the country were not so alive as they 
might have been to the circumstance of Lady Glenmire 
being in their neighborhood. Great events spring out of 
small causes; so I will not pretend to say what induced 
Mrs. Jamieson to alter her determination of excluding the 
Cranford ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for 
a small party, on the following Tuesday. Mr. Mulliner 
himself brought them round. He would always ignore the 


•The inn designated by this sign. 


“YOUR LADYSHIP 


143 


fact of there being a back door to any house, and gave a 
louder rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs. Jamieson. He had 
three little notes, which he carried in a large basket, in 
order to impress his mistress with an idea of their great 
weight, though they might easily have gone into his waist- 
coat pocket. 

Miss Matty and I quietly decided we would have a 
previous engagement at home — it was the evening on 
which Miss Matty usually made candle-lighters of all the 
notes and letters of the week; for on Mondays her ac- 
counts were always made straight — not a penny owing 
from the week before ; so, by a natural arrangement, mak- 
ing candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday evening, and gave 
us a legitimate excuse for declining Mrs. Jamieson’s invita- 
tion. But before our answer was written, in came Miss 
Pole, with an open note in her hand. 

“So!” she said. “Ah! I see you have got your note, 
too. Better late than never. I could have told my Lady 
Glenmire she would be glad enough of our society before 
a fortnight was over.” 

“Yes,” said Miss Matty, “we’re asked for Tuesday 
evening. And perhaps you would just kindly bring your 
work across and drink tea with us that night. It is my 
usual regular time for looking over the last week’s bills, 
and notes, and letters, and making candle-lighters of them ; 
but that does not seem quite reason enough for saying I 
have a previous engagement at home, though I meant to 
make it do. Now, if you would come, my conscience 
would be quite at ease, and luckily the note is not written 
yet.” 


14 + 


CRANFORD 


I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss 
Matty was speaking. 

“Don’t you mean to go, then?” asked she. 

“Oh, no!” said Miss Matty, quietly. “You don’t either, 
I suppose?” * 

“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. “Yes, I think I 
do,” said she, rather briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty 
look surprised, she added, “You see one would not like 
Mrs. Jamieson to think that anything she could do, or say, 
was of consequence enough to give offence; it would be 
a kind of letting down of ourselves, that I, for one, should 
not like. It would be too flattering to Mrs. Jamieson, 
if we allowed her to suppose that what she had said 
affected us a week, nay, ten days afterward.” 

“Well,, I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so 
long about anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not 
mean to vex us. But, I must say, I could not have brought 
myself to say the things Mrs. Jamieson did about our not 
calling. I really don’t think I shall go.” 

“Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our 
friend Mrs. Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than most 
people, and does not enter into the little delicacies of feel- 
ing which you possess in so remarkable a degree.” 

“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs. 
Jamieson called to tell us not to go,” said Miss Matty, 
innocently. 

But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, 
possessed a very smart cap, which she was anxious to show 
to an admiring world ; and so she seemed to forget all her 
angry words uttered not a fortnight before, and to be 
ready to act’on what she called the great Christian prin- 


“YOUR LADYSHIP’ 


145 


ciple of “Forgive and forget;” and she lectured dear Miss 
Matty so long on this head that she absolutely ended by 
assuring her it was her duty, as a deceased rector’s daugh- 
ter, to buy a new cap, and go to the party at Mrs. Jamie- 
son’s. So “we were most happy to accept,” instead of 
“regretting that we were obliged to decline.” 

The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally 
in that one article referred to. If the heads were buried 
in smart new caps, the ladies were like ostriches, and cared 
not what became of their bodies. Old gowns, white and 
venerable collars, any number of brooches, up and down, 
and everywhere (some with dogs’ eyes painted in them; 
some that were like small picture frames, with mausoleums 
and weeping-willows neatly executed in hair inside ; some, 
again, with miniatures of ladies and gentlemen sweetly 
smiling out of a nest of stiff muslin) — old brooches for a 
permanent ornament, and new caps to suit the fashion of 
the day; the ladies of Cranford always dressed with chaste 
elegance and propriety, as Miss Barker once prettily ex- 
pressed it. 

And with three new caps, and a greater array of 
brooches than had ever been seen together at one time 
since Cranford was a town, did Mrs. Forrester, and Miss 
Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that memorable Tuesday 
evening. I counted seven brooches myself on Miss Pole’s 
dress. Two were fixed negligently in her cap (one was a 
butterfly made of Scotch pebbles, which a vivid imagina- 
tion might believe to be the real insect) ; one fastened her 
net neckerchief; one her collar; one ornamented the front 
of her gown, midway between her throat and waist; and 
another adorned the point of her stomacher. Where the 


146 


CRANFORD 


seventh one w?is I have forgotten, but it was somewhere 
about her, I am sure. 

But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses 
of the company. I should first relate the gathering, on the 
way to Mrs. Jamieson’s. That lady lived in a large house 
just outside the town. A road, which had known what it 
was to be a street, ran right before the house, which 
opened out upon it, without any intervening garden or 
court. Whatever the sun was about, he never shone on 
the front of that house. To be sure, the living-rooms 
were at the back, looking on to a pleasant garden ; the 
front windows only belonged to kitchens, and housekeep- 
ers’ rooms, and pantries ; and in one of them Mr. Mulliner 
was reported to sit. Indeed, looking askance, we often 
saw the back of a head, covered with hair-powder, which 
also extended itself over his coat-collar down to his very 
waist ; and this imposing back was always engaged in read- 
ing the St. James's Chronicle, opened wide, which in some 
degree accounted for the length of time the said news- 
paper was in reaching us — equal subscribers with Mrs. 
Jamieson, though, in right of her honorableness, she al- 
ways had the reading of it first. This very Tuesday, the 
delay in forwarding the last number had been particularly 
aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and Miss Matty, 
the former more especially, had been wanting to see it, 
in order to catch up the court-news,, ready for the evening’s 
interview with aristocracy. Miss Pole told us she had 
absolutely taken time by the forelock, and been dressed 
by five o’clock, in order to be ready if the St. James's 
Chronicle should come in at the last moment — the very St. 
James's Chronicle which the powdered-head was tran- 


TOUR LADYSHIP' 


147 


quilly and composedly reading as we passed the accus- 
tomed window this evening. 

“The impudence of the man !” said Miss Pole, in a low, 
indignant whisper. “I should like to ask him whether 
his mistress pays her quarter-share for his exclusive use.” 

We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her 
thought; for Mr. Mulliner was an object of great awe to 
all of us. He seemed never to have forgotten his con- 
descension in coming to live at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, 
at times, had stood forth as the undaunted champion of 
her sex, and spoken to him on terms of equality; but even 
Miss Jenkyns could get no higher. In his pleasantest and 
most gracious moods, he looked like a sulky cockatoo. He 
did not speak except in gruff monosyllables. He would 
wait in the hall when we begged him not to wait, and 
then looked deeply offended because we had kept him 
there, while, with trembling, hasty hands, we prepared 
ourselves for appearing in company. 

Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went up- 
stairs, intended, though addressed to us, to afford Mr. 
Mulliner some slight amusement. We all smiled, in order 
to seem as if we felt at our ease, and timidly looked for 
Mr. Mulliner’s sympathy. Not a muscle of that wooden 
face had relaxed ; and we were grave in an instant. 

Mrs. Jamieson’s drawing-room was cheerful; the evening 
sun came streaming into it, and the large square window 
w T as clustered round with flowers. The furniture was 
white and gold ; not of the later style,, Louis Quatorze I 
think they call it, all shells and twflrls ; no, Mrs. Jamie- 
son’s chairs and tables had not a curve or bend about them. 
The chair and table legs diminished as they neared the 


148 


CRANFORD 


ground, and were straight and square in all their corners. 
The chairs were all a-row against the walls, with the ex- 
ception of four or five which stood in a circle round the 
fire. They were railed with white bars across the back, 
and knobbed with gold ; neither the railings nor the knobs 
invited to ease. There was a japanned table devoted to 
literature, on which lay a Bible, a Peerage , and a Prayer- 
book. There was another square Pembroke table dedi- 
cated to the fine arts, on which there was a kaleidoscope, 
conversation-cards, puzzle-cards (tied together to an in- 
terminable length of faded pink satin ribbon), and a box 
painted in fond imitation of the drawings w T hich decorate 
tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-worked rug, and 
ungraciously barked at us as we entered. Mrs. Jamieson 
stood up, giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and 
looking helplessly beyond us at Mr. Mulliner, as if she 
hoped he would place us in chairs, for if he did not, she 
never could. I suppose he thought w T e could find our way 
to the circle around the fire, which reminded me of Stone- 
henge , 1 I don’t know why. Lady Glenmire came to the 
rescue of our hostess; and somehow or other we found 
ourselves for the first time placed agreeably, and not 
formally, in Mrs. Jamieson’s house. Lady Glenmire, now 
we had time to look at her, proved to be a little woman 
of middle age, who had been very pretty in the days of 
her youth, and who was even yet very pleasant-looking. 
I saw Miss Pole appraising her dress in the first five 
minutes; and I take her word, when she said the next day: 

“My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every 
stitch she had on — lace and all.” 

1 The remains of a Druid temple on Salisbury Plain. 


“YOUR LADYSHIP’’ 


149 


It was very pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be 
poor, and partly reconciled us to the fact that her husband 
had never sat in the House of Lords ; which, when we 
first heard of it, seemed a kind of swindling us out of our 
respect on false pretences; a sort of “A Lord and no Lord” 
business. 

We were all very silent at first. We were thinking 
what we could talk about, that should be high enough to 
interest my lady. There had been a rise in the price of 
sugar, which, as preserving-time was near, was a piece of 
intelligence to all our housekeeping hearts, and would have 
been the natural topic if Lady Glenmire had not been by. 
But we were not sure if the Peerage ate preserves — much 
less knew how they were made. At last Miss Pole, who 
had always a great deal of courage and savoir faire, spoke 
to Lady Glenmire, who on her part had seemed just as 
much puzzled to know how to break the silence as we 
were. 

“Has your ladyship been to court lately?” asked she; 
and then gave a little glance round at us, half timid and 
half triumphant,, as much as to say, “See how judiciously 
I have chosen a subject befitting the rank of the stranger!” 

“I never was there in my life,” said Lady Glenmire, 
with a broad Scotch accent, but in a very sweet voice. 
And then, as if she had been too abrupt, she added: “We 
very seldom went to London ; only twice, in fact, during 
all my married life; and before I was married, my father 
had far too large a family” — (fifth daughter of Mr. 
Campbell, was in all our minds, I am sure) — “to take us 
often from our home, even to Edinburgh. Ye’ll have been 
in Edinburgh, may be?” said she, suddenly brightening 


150 


CRANFORD 


up, with the hope of a common interest. We had none 
of us been there; but Miss Pole had an uncle who once 
had passed a night there, which was very pleasant. 

Mrs. Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder 
why Mr. Mulliner did not bring the tea; and, at length, 
the wonder oozed out of her mouth. 

“I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?” said 
Lady Glenmire, briskly. 

“No — I think not — Mulliner does not like to be hur- 
ried.” 

We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an 
earlier hour than Mrs. Jamieson. I suspect Mr. Mulliner 
had to finish the St. James's Chronicle before he chose to 
trouble himself about tea. His mistress fidgeted and 
fidgeted, and kept saying, “I can’t think why Mulliner 
does not bring tea. I can’t think w’hat he can be about.” 
And Lady Glenmire at last grew quite impatient, but it 
was a pretty kind of impatience, after all; and she rung 
the bell rather sharply, on receiving a half-permission from 
her sister-in-law to do so. Mr. Mulliner appeared in 
dignified surprise. “Oh!” said Mrs. Jamieson, “Lady 
Glenmire rang the bell ; I believe it was for tea.” 

In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was 
the china, very old the plate, very thin the bread and 
butter, and very small the lumps of sugar. Sugar was 
evidently Mrs. Jamieson’s favorite economy. I question 
if the little filigree sugar-tongs, made something like 
scissors, could have opened themselves wide enough to 
take up an honest, vulgar, good-sized piece; and when I 
tried to take two little minikin pieces at once, so as not 
to be detected in too many returns to the sugar basin, they 


YOUR LADYSHIP’ 


151 


absolutely dropped one, with a little sharp clatter* quite 
in a malicious and unnatural manner. But before this 
happened, we had had a slight disappointment. In the 
little silver jug was cream, in the larger one was milk. 
As soon as Mr. Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, 
which was a thing our manners forbade us to do, though 
I am sure we were just as hungry; and Mrs. Jamieson said 
she was certain we would excuse her if she gave her poor 
dumb Carlo his tea first. She accordingly mixed a saucer- 
ful for him, and put it down for him to lap ; and then she 
told us how intelligent and sensible the dear little fellow 
was; he knew cream quite well, and constantly refused 
tea with only milk in it, so the milk was left for us; but 
we silently thought we were quite as intelligent and sen- 
sible as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury, 
when we were called upon to admire the gratitude evinced 
by his wagging his tail for the cream, which should have 
been ours. 

After tea we thawed down into common life subjects. 
We were thankful to Lady Glenmire for having proposed 
some more bread and butter, and this mutual want made 
us better acquainted with her than we should ever have 
been with talking about the court, though Miss Pole did 
say she had hoped to know how the dear queen was from 
some one who had seen her. 

The friendship, begun over bread and butter, extended 
on to cards. Lady Glenmire played Preference to ad- 
miration and was a complete authority as to Ombre and 
Quadrille. Even Miss Pole quite forgot to say “my lady,” 
and “your ladyship,” and said, “Basto! ma’am;” “You 
have Spadille, I believe,” just as quietly as if we had never 


152 


CRANFORD 


held the great Cranford parliament on the subject of the 
proper mode of addressing a peeress. 

As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that 
we were in the presence of one who might have sat down 
to tea with a coronet, instead of a cap, on her head, Mrs. 
Forrester related a curious little fact to Lady Glenmire — 
an anecdote known to the circle of her intimate friends, 
but of which even Mrs. Jamieson was not aware. It re- 
lated to some fine old lace, the sole relic of better days, 
which Lady Glenmire was admiring on Mrs. Forrester’s 
collar. 

“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be got now for 
either love or money; made by the nuns abroad, they tell 
me. They say that they can’t make it now, even there. 
But perhaps they can now they’ve passed the Catholic 
Emancipation Bill . 1 I should not wonder. But, in the 
meantime, I treasure up my lace very much. I daren’t 
even trust the washing of it to my maid” (the little 
charity-school girl I have named before, but who sounded 
well as “my maid”). “I always wash it myself. And 
once it had a narrow escape. Of course, your ladyship 
knows that such lace must never be starched or ironed. 
Some people wash it in sugar and water; and some in 
coffee, to make it the right yellow color; but I myself 
have a very good receipt for washing it in milk, which 
stiffens it enough,, and gives it a very good creamy color. 
Well, ma’am, I had tacked it together (and the beauty of 
this fine lace is, that when it is wet it goes into a very 
little space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfor- 

I This measure, restoring Catholics to their civil rights as Englishmen, was 
passed in 1829. 


YOUR LADYSHIP’ 


153 


tunately, I left the room ; on my return, I found pussy on 
the table, looking very like a thief, but gulping very un- 
comfortably, as if she was half choked with something she 
Wanted to swallow and could not. And, would you be- 
lieve it? At first I pitied her, and said, “Poor pussy! poor 
pussy!’ till, all at once, I looked and saw the cup of milk 
empty — cleaned out! ‘You naughty cat!’ said I; and I 
believe I was provoked enough to give her a slap, which 
did no good,, but only helped the lace down — just as one 
slaps a choking child on the back. I could have cried — 
I was so vexed ; but I determined I would not give the 
lace up without a struggle for it. I hoped the lace might 
.disagree with her, at any rate; but it would have been 
too much for Job, if he had seen, as I did, that cat come 
in, quite placid and purring, not a quarter of an hour 
after, and almost expecting to be stroked. ‘No, pussy!’ 
said I ; ‘if you have any conscience, you ought not to ex- 
pect that !’ And then a thought struck me ; and I rung the 
bell for my maid, and sent her to Mr. Hoggins, with my 
compliments, and would he be kind enough to lend me 
one of his top-boots for an hour? I did not think there 
was anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the 
young men in the surgery laughed as if they would be ill, 
at my wanting a top-boot. When it came, Jenny and I put 
pussy in, with her fore-feet straight down, so that they 
were fastened, and could not scratch, and we gave her a 
teaspoonful of currant jelly, in which (your ladyship must 
excuse me) I had mixed some tartar emetic. I shall never 
forget how anxious I was for the next half hour. I took 
pussy to my own room,, and spread a clean towel on the 
floor. I could have kissed her when she returned the lace 


154 


CRANFORD 


to sight, very much as it had gone down. Jenny had 
boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and 
spread it on a lavender-bush in the sun, before I could 
touch it again, even to put it in milk. But now your 
ladyship would never guess that it had been in puss’s in- 
side.” 

We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady 
Glenmire was going to pay Mrs. Jamieson a long visit, as 
she had given up her apartments in Edinburgh, and had no 
ties to take her back there in a hurry. On the whole, we 
w r ere rather glad to hear this, for she had made a pleasant 
impression upon us; and it was also very comfortable to 
find, from things which dropped out in the course of con- 
versation, that, in addition to many other genteel qualities, 
she was far removed from the vulgarity of wealth. 

“Don’t you find it very unpleasant, walking?” asked 
Mrs. Jamieson, as our respective servants were announced. 
It was a pretty regular question from Mrs. Jamieson, who 
had her own carriage in the coach-house, and always went 
out in a sedan chair to the very shortest distances. The 
answers were nearly as much a matter of course. 

“Oh, dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at night!” 
“Such a refreshment after the excitement of a party!” 
“The stars are so beautiful!” This last was from Miss 
Matty. 

“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire asked. 

“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at the 
moment to remember which was astronomy and which 
was astrology; but the answer was true under either cir- 
cumstance, for she read, and was slightly alarmed at, 


‘YOUR LADYSHIP’ 


155 


Francis Moore’s 1 astrological predictions; and as to as- 
tronomy, in a private and confidential conversation, she 
had told me she never could believe that the earth was 
moving constantly, and that she would not believe it if she 
could, it made her feel so tired and dizzy whenever she 
thought about it. 

In our pattens, we picked our way home with extra 
care that night, so refined and delicate were our perceptions 
after drinking tea with “my lady.’ 

1 Moore was an old maker of almanacs who prophesied by the stars. 


CHAPTER IX 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 

Soon after the events of which I gave an account in my 
last paper, I was summoned home by my father’s illness; 
and for a time I forgot, in anxiety about him, to wonder 
how my dear friends at Cranford were getting on, or how 
Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness of 
the long visit which she was still paying to her sister-in- 
law, Mrs. Jamieson. When my father grew a little 
stronger I accompanied him to the seaside, so that alto- 
gether I seemed banished from Cranford, and was de- 
prived of the opportunity of hearing any chance intelli- 
gence of the dear little town for the greater part of that 
year. 

Late in November — when we had returned home again, 
and my father was once more in good health — I received 
a letter from Miss Matty, and a very mysterious letter it 
was. She began many sentences without ending them, 
running them one into another, in much the same confused 
sort of way in which written words run together on blot- 
ting-paper. All I could make out was, that if my father 
was better (which she hoped he was), and would take 
warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas 1 to Lady- 

iNamed from St. Michael; it is the 29th of November and is celebrated by 
eating goose. 


156 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


157 


day , 1 if turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? such a 
piece of gayety was going to happen as had not been seen 
or known of since Wombwell’s lions came, when one of 
them ate a little child’s arm ; and she was, perhaps, too 
old to care about dress ; but a new cap she must have ; and, 
having heard that turbans were worn, and some of the 
county families likely to come, she would like to look tidy, 
if I would bring her a cap from the milliner I employed ; 
and oh, dear! how careless of her to forget that she wrote 
to beg I would come and pay her a visit next Tuesday; 
when she hoped to have something to offer me in the way 
of amusement, which she would not now more particularly 
describe, only sea-green was her favorite color. So she 
ended her letter; but in a P. S. she added, she thought she 
might as well tell me what was the peculiar attraction to 
Cranford just now: Signor Brunoni was going to exhibit 
his wonderful magic in the Cranford Assembly Rooms, 
on Wednesday and Friday evening in the following week. 

I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear 
Miss Matty, independently of the conjurer; and most 
particularly anxious to prevent her from disfiguring her 
small gentle mousey face with a great Saracen’s-head tur- 
ban; and accordingly I bought her a pretty, neat, middle- 
aged cap, which, however, was rather a disappointment to 
her when, on my arrival, she followed me into my bed- 
room, ostensibly to poke the fire, but in reality, I do be- 
lieve, to see if the sea-green turban was not inside the cap- 
box with which I had travelled. It was in vain that I 
twirled the cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side 
fronts: her heart had been set upon a turban, and all she 

I The festival of the annunciation of the Virgin Mary on March 25th. 


158 


CRANFORD 


could do was to say, with resignation in her look and 
voice : 

“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just like 
the caps all the ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they 
have had theirs for a year, I dare say. I should have liked 
something newer, I confess — something more like the 
turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me Queen Adelaide wears; 
but it is very pretty, my dear. And I dare say lavender 
will wear better than sea-green. Well, after all, what is 
dress that we should care about it! You’ll tell me if you 
want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. I suppose 
turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?” 

So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself 
out of the room, leaving me to dress for the evening, when, 
as she informed me, she expected Miss Pole and Mrs. For- 
rester, and she hoped I should not feel myself too much 
tired to join the party. Of course I should not; and I 
made some haste to unpack and arrange my dress; but, 
with all my speed, I heard the arrivals and the buzz of 
conversation in the next room before I was ready. Just 
as I opened the door I caught the words: “I was foolish 
to expect anything very genteel out of the Drumble shops 
—poor girl! she did her best, I’ve no doubt.” But, for all 
that, I had rather that she blamed Drumble and me than 
disfigured herself with a turban. 

Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cran- 
ford ladies now assembled, to have had adventures. She 
was in the habit of spending the morning in rambling 
from shop to shop; not to purchase anything (except an 
occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), but to see the 
new articles and report upon them, and to collect all the 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


159 


stray pieces of intelligence in the town. She had a way, 
too, of demurely popping hither and thither into all sorts 
of places to gratify her curiosity on any point; a way 
which, if she had not looked so very genteel and prim, 
might have been considered impertinent. And now, by 
the expressive way in which she cleared her throat, and 
waited for all minor subjects (such as caps and turbans) 
to be cleared off the course, we knew she had something 
very particular to relate, when the due pause came; and 
I defy any people, possessed of common modesty, to keep 
up a conversation long, where one among them sits up 
aloft in silence, looking down upon all the things they 
chance to say as trivial and contemptible compared to what 
they could disclose if properly entreated. Miss Pole 
began : 

“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I 
chanced to go into the George (my Betty had a second 
cousin who is chamber-maid there, and I thought Betty 
would like to hear how she was), and, not seeing any one 
about, I strolled up the staircase, and found myself in the 
passage leading to the Assembly Room (you and I remem- 
ber the Assembly Room, I am sure, Miss Matty! and the 
minuets de la cour!) ; so I went on, not thinking of what 
I -was about, when, all at once, I perceived that I was in 
the middle of the preparations for to-morrow night — the 
room being divided with great clothes-maids, 1 over which 
Crosby’s men were tacking red flannel ; very dark and odd 
it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I was going on 
behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a gentle- 
man (quite the gentleman, I can assure you) stepped for- 

*A dialect term for clothes-horse. 


160 


CRANFORD 


ward and asked if I had any business he could arrange for 
me. He spoke such pretty broken English, I could not 
help thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the Hungarian 
Brothers, and Santo Sebastiani ; 1 and‘ while I was busy 
picturing his past life to myself, he had bowed me out of 
the room. But wait a minute! You have not heard half 
my story yet ! I was going down-stairs, when who should 
I meet but Betty’s second cousin. So, of course, I stopped 
to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told me that I 
had really seen the conjurer — the gentleman who spoke 
broken English was Signor Brunoni himself. Just at 
this moment he passed us on the stairs, making such a 
graceful bow, in reply to which I dropped a curtsy — all 
foreigners have such polite manners, one catches something 
of it. But when he had gone down stairs, I bethought me 
that I had dropped my glove in the Assembly Room (it 
was safe in my muff all the time, but I never found it till 
afterward) ; so I went back, and, just as I was creeping 
up the passage left on one side of the great screen that 
goes nearly across the room, who should I see but- the very, 
same gentleman that had met me before, and passed me 
on the stairs,, coming now forward from the inner part of 
the room, to which there is no entrance — you remember, 
Miss Matty! and just repeating, in his pretty broken Eng- 
lish, the inquiry if I had any business there — I don’t mean 
that he put it quite so bluntly, but he seemed very de- 
termined that I should not pass the screen ; so, of course, 
I explained about my glove, which, curiously enough, I 
found at that very moment.” 

Miss Pole then had seen the conjurer — the real live con- 

1 Popular novels by the Misses Porter. 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


161 


jurer! — and numerous were the questions we all asked 
her: “Had he a beard?” “Was he young or old?” “Fair 
or dark?” “Did he look” — (unable to shape my question 
prudently, I put it in another form) — “How did he look?” 
In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing 
to her morning’s encounter. If she was not the rose (that 
is to say, the conjurer), she had been near it. 

Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were 
the subjects of the evening. Miss Pole was slightly skep- 
tical, and inclined to think there might be a scientific solu- 
tion found for even the proceedings of the witch of Endor. 1 
M rs. Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to death- 
watches. Miss Matty ranged between the two — always 
convinced by the last speaker. I think she was naturally 
more inclined to Mrs. Forrester’s side, but a desire of 
proving herself a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns kept her 
equally balanced — Miss Jenkyns, who would never allow 
a servant to call the little rolls of tallow that formed them- 
selves round candles, “winding-sheets,” but insisted on 
their being spoken of as “roley-poleys !” A sister of hers 
to be superstitious! It would never do! 

After tea, I was despatched down stairs into the dining- 
parlor for that volume of the old Encyclopedia which con- 
tained the nouns beginning with C, in order that Miss 
Pole might prime herself with scientific explanations for 
the tricks of the following evening. It spoiled the pool at 
Preference which Miss Matty and Mrs. Forrester had 
been looking forward to, for Miss Pole became so much 
absorbed in her subject, and the plates by which it was 
illustrated, that we felt it would be cruel to disturb her, 

iThe witch visited by King Saul; cf. I Samuel XXVIII. 


162 


CRANFORD 


otherwise than by one or two well-timed yawns, which I 
threw in now and then, for I was really touched by the 
meek way in which the two ladies were bearing their dis- 
appointment. But Miss Pole only read the more zealously, 
imparting to us no more interesting information than this : 

“Ah! I see — I comprehend perfectly. A represents the 
ball. Put A between B and D — no ! between C and F — 
and turn the second joint of the third finger of your left 
hand over the wrist of your right H. Very clear indeed! 
My dear Mrs. Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a 
mere affair of the alphabet. Do let me read you this one 
passage?” 

Mrs. Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, 
from a child upward, she never could understand being 
read aloud to, and I dropped the pack of cards, which I 
had been shuffling very audibly ; and by this discreet move- 
ment I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that Preference was 
to have been the order -of the evening, and to propose, 
rather unwillingly, that the pool should commence. The 
pleasant brightness that stole over the other tw T o ladies’ 
faces on this! Miss Matty had one or two twinges of 
self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole in her 
studies ; and did not remember her cards well or give her 
full attention to the game, until she had soothed her con- 
science by offering to lend the volume of the Encyclopedia 
to Miss Pole, who accepted it thankfully, and said Betty 
should take it home when she came with the lantern. 

The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter 
at the idea of the gayety before us. Miss Matty went up 
to dress betimes, and hurried me until I was ready, when 
we found we had an hour and a half to wait before the 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


163 


“doors opened at seven precisely.” And we had only 
twenty yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, it 
vcould not do to get too much absorbed in anything, and 
forget the time; so she thought we had better sit quietly, 
without lighting the candles, until five minutes to seven. 
So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted. 

At length we set off; and at the door, under the car- 
riageway at the George, we met Mrs. Forrester and 
Miss Pole; the latter was discussing the subject of the 
evening with more vehemence than ever, and throwing A’s 
and B’s at our heads like hailstones. She had even copied 
one or two of the “receipts” — as she called them — for the 
different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to explain and 
to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts. 

We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly 
Room ; Miss Matty gave a sigh or two to her departed 
youth, and the remembrance of the last time she had been 
there, as she adjusted her pretty new cap before the 
strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The As- 
sembly Room had been added to the inn about a hundred 
years before by the different county families, who met to- 
gether there once a month during the winter, to dance 
and play at cards. Many a county beauty had first swum 
through the minuet that she afterward danced before 
Queen Charlotte 1 in this very room. It was said that one 
of the Gunnings 2 had graced the apartment with her 
beauty; it was certain that a rich and beautiful widow, 
Lady Williams, had here been smitten with the noble 
figure of a young artist, who was staying with some 

iWife of George III. 

^Famous beauties in the reign of George III. 


164 


CRANFORD 


family in the neighborhood for professional purposes, and 
accompanied his patrons to the Cranford Assembly. And 
a pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome 
husband, if all tales were true! Now no beauty blushed 
and dimpled along the sides of the Cranford Assembly 
Room ; no handsome artist won hearts by his bow, chapeau 
bras 1 in hand ; the old room was dingy; the salmon-colored 
paint had faded into a drab ; great pieces of plaster had 
chipped off from the white wreaths and festoons on its 
walls ; but still a mouldy odor of aristocracy lingered about 
the place, and a dusty recollection of the days that were 
gone made Miss Matty and Mrs. Forrester bridle up as 
they entered, and walk mincinglv up the room, as if there 
were a number of genteel observers, instead of two little 
boys, with a stick of toffy between them with which to 
beguile the time. 

We stopped short at the second front row; I could 
hardly understand why, until I heard Miss Pole ask a 
stra^ waiter if any of the county families were expected ; 
and when he shook his head, and believed not, Mrs. For- 
rester and Miss Matty moved forward, and our party 
represented a conversational square. The front row was 
j-oon augmented and enriched by Lady Glenmire and Mrs. 
Jamieson. We six occupied the two front rows, and our 
aristocratic seclusion was respected by the groups of shop- 
k.epers who strayed in from time to time, and huddled 
together on the back benches. At least I conjectured so, 
From the noise they made, and the sonorous bumps they 
gave in sitting down ; but when, in weariness of the obsti- 
nate green curtain, that would not draw up, but would 


-4A hat meant to be carried under the arm. 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


165 


stare at me with two odd eyes, seen through holes, as in 
the old tapestry story, I would fain have looked round at 
the merry chattering people behind me, Miss Pole clutched 
my arm, and begged me not to turn, for “it was not the 
thing.” What “the thing” was I never could find out, 
but it must have been something eminently dull and tire- 
some. However, w r e all sat eyes right, square front, gazing 
at the tantalizing curtain, and hardly speaking intelligibly, 
we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity of mak- 
ing any noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs. Jamie- 
son was the most fortunate, for she fell asleep. 

At length the eyes disappeared — the curtain quivered — 
one side w T ent up before the other, which stuck fast ; it was 
dropped again, and, with a fresh effort, and a vigorous 
pull from some unseen hand, it flew’ up, revealing to our 
sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, 
seated before a little table, gazing at us (I should have 
said with the same eyes that I had last seen through the 
hole in the curtain) with calm and condescending dignity, 
“like a being of another sphere,” as I heard a sentimental 
voice ejaculate behind me. 

“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole, de- 
cidedly, and so audibly that I am sure he heard, for he 
glanced down over his flowing beard at our party with an 
air of mute reproach. “Signor Brunoni had no beard — 
but perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled herself into 
patience. Meanw’hile Miss Matty had reconnoitred 
through her eye-glass; wiped it, and looked again. Then 
she turned around, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrow- 
ful tone: 

“You see, my dear, turbans are worn.” 


166 


CRANFORD 


But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand 
Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call him., arose and announced 
himself as Signor Brunoni. 

“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant 
manner. He looked at her again, with the same dignified 
upbraiding in his countenance. “I don’t!” she repeated, 
more positively than ever. “Signor Brunoni had not got 
that muffy sort of thing about his chin, but looked like a 
close-shaved Christian gentleman.” 

Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of 
waking up Mrs. Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in 
sign of the deepest attention — a proceeding which silenced 
Miss Pole, and encouraged the Grand Turk to proceed, 
which he did in very broken English — so broken that 
there was no cohesion between the parts of his sentences ; 
a fact, which he himself perceived at last, and so left off 
speaking and proceeded to action. 

Now we were astonished. How he did his tricks I 
could not imagine; no, not even when Miss Pole pulled 
out her pieces of paper and began reading aloud — or, at 
least, in a very audible whisper — the separate “receipts” 
for the most common of his tricks. If ever I saw a man 
frown, and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at 
Miss Pole: but, as she said, what could be expected but 
unchristian looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole was 
skeptical, and more engrossed with her receipts and dia- 
grams than with his tricks., Miss Matty and Mrs. For- 
rester were mystified and perplexed to the highest degree. 
Mrs. Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off and wiping 
them, as if she thought it was something defective in them 
which made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


167 


had seen many curious sights in Edinburgh, was very 
much struck with the tricks, and would not at all agree 
with Miss Pole, who declared that anybody could do them 
with a little practice — and that she would herself under- 
take to do all that he did, with two hours given to study 
the Encyclopedia , and make her third finger flexible. 

At last, Miss Matty and Mrs. Forrester became per- 
fectly awestruck. They whispered together. I sat just 
behind them, so I could not help hearing what they were 
saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs. Forrester “if she thought 
it was quite right to have come to see such things! She 
could not help fearing they were lending encouragement 
to something that was not quite — ” a little shake of the 
head filled up the blank. Mrs. Forrester replied, that 
the same thought had crossed her mind ; she, too, was feel- 
ing very uncomfortable; it w T as so very strange. She was 
quite certain that it was her pocket-handkerchief which 
was in that loaf just now; and it had been in her own 
hand not five minutes before. She wondered who had 
furnished the bread. She was sure it could not be Dakin, 
because he was the church-warden. Suddenly Miss Matty 
half turned toward me: 

“Will you look, my dear — you are a stranger in the 
town, and it won’t give rise to unpleasant reports — will 
you just look round and see if the rector is here? If he is, 
I think we may conclude that this wonderful man is sanc- 
tioned by the Church, and that will be a great relief to 
my mind.” 

I looked, and I saw the tall, thin., dry, dusty rector, sit- 
ting surrounded by National School boys, guarded by 
troops of his own sex from any approach of the many 


168 


CRANFORD 


Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all agape with 
broad smiles, and the bo) T s around him were in chinks of 
laughing. I told Miss Matty that the Church was smiling 
approval, which set her mind at ease. 

I have never named Mr. Hayter, the rector, because I, 
as a well-to-do and happy young woman, never came in 
contact with him. He was an old bachelor, but as afraid 
of matrimonial reports getting abroad about him as any 
girl of eighteen ; and he would rush into a shop, or dive 
down an entry, sooner than encounter any of the Cran- 
ford ladies in the street; and, as for the Preference 
parties, I did not wonder at his not accepting invitations 
to them. To tell the truth, I always suspected Miss Pole 
of having given very vigorous chase to Mr. Hayter when 
he first came to Cranford ; and not the less, because now 
she appeared to share so vividly in his dread lest her name 
should ever be coupled with his. He found all his interests 
among the poor and helpless; he had treated the National 
School boys this very night to the performance ; and virtue 
was for once its own reward, for they guarded him right 
and left, and clung round him as if he had been the queen 
bee, and they the swarm. He felt so safe in their environ- 
ment, that he could even afford to give our party a bow 
as we filed out. Miss Pole ignored his presence, and pre- 
tended to be absorbed in convincing us that we had been 
cheated, and had not seen Signor Brunoni after all. 


CHAPTER X 


THE PANIC 

I think a series of circumstances dated from Signor 
Brunoni’s visit to Cranford, which seemed at the time 
connected in our minds- with him, though I don’t know 
that he had anything really to do with them. All at once 
all sorts of uncomfortable rumors got afloat in the town. 
There were one or two robberies — real bona fide robberies ; 
men had up before the magistrates and committed for trial ; 
and that seemed to make us all afraid of being robbed ; and 
for a long time at Miss Matty’s, I know, we used to make 
a regular tour all round the kitchens and cellars every 
night, Miss Matty leading the way, armed with the poker, 
I following with the hearth brush, and Martha carrying 
the shovel and fire-irons with which to sound the alarm; 
and by the accidental hitting together of them she often 
frightened us so much that we bolted ourselves up, all three 
together, in the back kitchen, or storeroom, or wherever 
we happened to be, till, when our affright was over, we 
recollected ourselves, and set out with double valiance. 
By day we heard strange stories from the shop-keepers and 
cottagers, of carts that went about in the dead of night,, 
drawn by horses shod with felt, and guarded by men in 
dark clothes, going round the town, no doubt, in search 
of some unwatched house or some unfastened door. 


169 


170 


CRANFORD 


Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the 
principal person to collect and arrange these reports, so as 
to make them assume their most fearful aspect. But we 
discovered that she had begged one of Mr. Hoggins’s 
worn-out hats to hang up in her lobby, and we (at least 
I) had my doubts as to whether she really would enjoy 
the little adventure of having her house broken into, as 
she protested she should. Miss Matty made no secret of 
being an arrant coward, but she went regularly through 
her housekeeper’s duty of inspection — only the hour for 
this became earlier and earlier, till at last we went the 
rounds at half-past six, and Miss Matty adjourned to bed 
soon after seven, “in order to get the night over the 
sooner.” 

Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest 
and moral town, that it had grown to fancy itself too 
genteel and well-bred to be otherwise, and felt the stain 
upon its character at this time doubly. But we comforted 
ourselves with the assurance which we gave to each other, 
that the robberies could never have been committed by any 
Cranford person ; it must have been a stranger or strangers 
who brought this disgrace upon the town, and occasioned 
as many precautions as if we were living among the Red 
Indians or the French. 

This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and 
fortification was made by Mrs. Forrester,, whose father 
had served under General Burgoyne in the American war, 
and whose husband had fought the French in Spain. She 
indeed inclined to the idea that, in some way, the French 
were connected with the small thefts, which were ascer- 
tained facts, and the burglaries and highway robberies, 


THE PANIC 


171 


Xvhich were rumors. She had been deeply impressed with 
the idea of French spies, at some time in her life; and the 
notion could never be fairly eradicated, but sprung up 
again from time to time. And now her theory was this: 
the Cranford people respected themselves too much,, and 
were too grateful to the aristocracy who were so kind as 
to live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing up 
by being dishonest or immoral ; therefore, we must believe 
that the robbers were strangers — if strangers, why not for- 
eigners? — if foreigners, who so likely as the French? 
Signor Brunoni spoke broken English like a Frenchman, 
and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs. Forrester 
had seen a print of Madame de Stael 1 with a turban on, 
and another of Mr. Denon 2 in just- such a dress as that in 
which the conjurer had made his appearance; showing 
clearly that the French, as well as the Turks, wore tur- 
bans. There could be no doubt Signor Brunoni was a 
Frenchman — a French spy, come to discover the weak 
and undefended places of England ; and, doubtless, he had 
his accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs. Forrester, had 
always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s adventure at 
the George Inn — seeing two men where only one was be- 
lieved to be: French people had ways and means, which 
she was thankful to say the English knew nothing about ; 
and she had never felt quite easy in her mind about going 
to see that conjurer; it was rather too much like a for- 
bidden thing, though the rector was there. In short, Mrs. 
Forrester grew more excited than we had ever known her 

>A French writer of the time of Napoleon. 

2 A French artist and Egyptologist. 


172 


CRANFORD 


before; and, being an officer’s daughter and widow, w T e- 
looked up to her opinion, of course. 

Really, I do not know how much was true or false in 
the reports which flew about like wildfire just at this 
time; but it seemed to me then that there was every rea- 
son to believe that at Mardon (a small town about eight 
miles from Cranford) houses and shops were entered by 
holes made in the walls, the bricks being silently carried 
away in the dead of the night, and all done so quietly that 
no sound was heard either in or out of the house. Miss 
Matty gave it up in despair when she heard of this. 
“What was the use,” said she, “of locks and bolts* and 
bells to the windows, and going round the house every 
night? That last trick was fit for a conjurer. Now she 
did believe that Signor. Brunoni was at the bottom of it.” 

One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a 
hasty knock at the door. Miss Matty bade me run and 
tell Martha on no account to open the door till she (Miss 
Matty) had reconnoitred through the window; and she 
armed herself with a footstool to drop down on the head 
of the visitor, in case he should show a face covered with 
black crape, as he looked up in answer to her inquiry of 
who was there. But it was nobody but Miss Pole and 
Betty. The former came up stairs* carrying a little hand- 
basket, and she was evidently in a state of great agitation. 

“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I offered to re- 
lieve her of her basket. “It’s my plate. I am sure there 
is a plan to rob my house to-night. I am come to throw 
myself on your hospitality, Miss Matty. Betty is going 
to sleep with her cousin at the George. I can sit up here 
all night, if you will allow me; but my house is so far 


THE PANIC 


173 


from any neighbors, and I don’t believe we could be heard 
if we screamed ever so!” 

“But,” said Miss Matt}', “what has alarmed you so 
much? Have you seen any men lurking about the house?” 

“Oh yes!” answered Miss Pole. “Two very bad look- 
ing men have gone three times past the house, very slowly ; 
and an Irish beggar-woman came not half an hour ago, 
and all but forced herself in past Betty, saying her children 
were starving, and she must speak to the mistress. You 
see, she said ‘mistress,’ though there was a hat hanging up 
in the hall, and it would have been more natural to have 
said ‘master.’ But Betty shut the door in her face, and 
came up to me, and we got the spoons together, and sat in 
the parlor window watching till we saw Thomas Jones 
going from his work, when we called to him, and asked 
him to take care of us into the town.” 

We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had 
professed such bravery until she was frightened ; but we 
were too glad to perceive that she shared in the weak- 
nesses of humanity to exult over her; and I gave up my 
room to her very willingly, and shared Miss Matty’s bed 
for the night. But before we retired, the two ladies rum- 
maged up, out of the recesses of their memory, such horrid 
stories of robbery and murder, that I quite quaked in my 
shoes. Miss Pole was evidently anxious to prove that such 
terrible events had occurred within her experience, that 
she was justified in her sudden panic; and Miss Matty did 
not like to be outdone, and capped every story with one yet 
more horrible, till it reminded me, oddly enough,, of an old 
story I had read somewhere, of a nightingale and a 
musician, who strove one against the other which could 


174 


CRANFORD 


produce the most admirable music, till poor Philomel 
dropped down dead. 

One of the stories, that haunted me for a long time 
afterward, was of a girl, who was left in charge of a great 
house in Cumberland, on some particular fair-day, when 
the other servants all went off to the gayeties. The family 
were away in London, and a peddler came by, and asked 
to leave his large and heavy pack in the kitchen, saying he 
would call for it again at night; and the girl (a game- 
keeper’s daughter), roaming about in search of amusement, 
chanced to hit upon a gun hanging up in the hall, and took 
it dowm to look at the chasing ; and it went off through 
the open kitchen door, hit the pack, and a slow,, dark 
thread of blood came oozing out. (How Miss Pole 
enjoyed this part of the story, dwelling on each word as 
if she loved it!) She rather hurried over the further 
account of the girl’s bravery, and I have but a confused 
idea that, somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian 
irons , 1 heated red hot, and then restored to blackness by 
being dipped in grease. 

We parted for the night with an awestruck wonder as 
to what we should hear of in the morning — and on my 
part, with a vehement desire for the night to be over and 
gone; I was so afraid lest the robbers should have seen, 
from some dark lurking-place, that Miss Pole had carried 
off her plate, and thus have a double motive for attacking 
our house. 

But, until Lady Glenmire came to call next day, we 
heard of nothing unusual. The kitchen fire-irons were in 
exactly the same position against the back door, as when 


instruments used for fluting linen and lace. 


THE PANIC 


175 


Martha and I had skilfully piled them up like spillikins, 1 
ready to fall with an awful clatter if only a cat had 
touched the outside panels. I had wondered what we 
should all do if thus awakened and alarmed, and had pro- 
posed to Miss Matty that we should cover up our faces 
under the bedclothes, so that there should be no danger 
of the robbers thinking that we could identify them ; but 
Miss Matty, who was trembling very much, scouted this 
idea, and said we owed it to society to apprehend them, 
and that she should certainly do her best to lay hold of 
them, and lock them up in the garret till morning. 

When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of 
her. Mrs. Jamieson’s house had really been attacked ; at 
least there were men’s footsteps to be seen on the flower- 
borders, underneath the kitchen windows, “where nae men 
should be”; and Carlo had barked all through the night 
as if strangers were abroad. Mrs. Jamieson had been 
awakened by Lady Glenmire, and they had rung the bell 
which communicated with Mr. Mulliner’s room in the 
third story, and when his night-capped head had appeared 
over the banisters in answer to the summons, they had told 
him of their alarm, and the reasons for it; whereupon he 
retreated into his bedroom, and locked the door (for fear 
of draughts, as he informed them in the morning), and 
opened the window, and called out valiantly to say if the 
supposed robbers would come to him, he would fight them ; 
but, as Lady Glenmire observed, that was but poor com- 
fort, since they would have to pass by Mrs. Jamieson’s 
room and her own before they could reach him, and must 
be of a very pugnacious disposition indeed if they neglected 


Splinters of wood or bone used in games like jackstraws. 


176 


CRANFORD 


the opportunities of robbery presented by the unguarded 
lower stories,, to go up to a garret, and there force a door 
in order to get at the champion of the house. Lady 
Glenmire, after waiting and listening for some time in 
the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs. Jamieson that 
they should go to bed; but that lady said she should not 
feel comfortable unless she sat up and watched ; and, 
accordingly, she packed herself warmly up on the sofa, 
where she was found by the housemaid, when she came 
into the room at six o’clock, fast asleep ; but Lacly Glen- 
mire went to bed, and kept awake all night. 

When Miss Pole heard of this she nodded her head in 
great satisfaction. She had been sure we should hear of 
something happening in Cranford that night; and we 
had heard. It was clear enough they had first proposed to 
attack her house; but when they saw that she and Betty 
were on their guard, and had carried off the plate, they 
had changed their tactics and gone to Mrs. Jamieson’s, 
and no one knew what might have happened if Carlo 
had not barked, like a good dog as he was. 

Poor Carlo ! his barking days were nearly over. Whether 
the gang who infested the neighborhood were afraid of 
him; or whether they were revengeful enough for the 
way in which he had baffled them on the night in question 
to poison him ; or whether, as some among the more unedu- 
cated people thought, he died of apoplexy, brought on by 
too much feeding and too little exercise ; at any rate, it is 
certain that, two days after this eventful night, Carlo was 
found dead, with his poor little legs stretched out stiff in 
the attitude of running, as if by such unusual exertion he 
could escape the sure pursuer, Death. 


THE PANIC 


177 


We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend 
who had snapped at us for so many years; and the mys- 
terious mode of his death' made us very uncomfortable. 
Could Signor Brunoni be at the bottom of this? He had 
apparently killed a canary with only a word of command ; 
his will seemed of deadly force; who knew but what he 
might yet be lingering in the neighborhood, willing all 
sorts of awful things ! 

We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the 
evenings; but in the mornings our courage came back 
with the daylight, and in a week’s time we had got over 
the shock of Carlo’s death — all but Mrs. Jamieson. She, 
poor thing, felt it as she had felt no event since her 
husband’s death; indeed Miss Pole said, that as the Honor- 
able Mr. Jamieson drank a good deal, and occasioned her 
much uneasiness, it was possible that Carlo’s death might 
be the greater affliction. But there was always a tinge of 
cynicism in Miss Pole’s remarks. However, one thing 
was clear and certain; it was necessary for Mrs. Jamieson 
to have some change of scene; and Mr. Mulliner was 
very impressive on this point, shaking his head whenever 
we inquired after his mistress, and speaking of her loss of 
appetite and bad nights very ominously; and with justice 
too, for if she had two characteristics in her natural state 
of health, they were a facility of eating and sleeping. If 
she could neither eat nor sleep, she must be indeed out of 
spirits and out of health. 

Lady Gknmire (who had evidently taken very kindly 
to Cranford) did not like the idea of Mrs. Jamieson’s 
going to Cheltenham, and more than once insinuated pretty 
plainly that it was Mr. Mulliner’s doing, who had been 


178 


CRANFORD 


much alarmed on the occasion of the house being attacked, 
and since had said, more than once, that he felt it a very 
responsible charge to have to defend so many women. Be 
that as it might, Mrs. Jamieson went to Cheltenham, 
escorted by Mr. Mulliner; and Lady Glenmire remained 
in possession of the house, her ostensible office being to 
take care that the maid-servants did not pick up followers. 
She made a very pleasant-looking dragon ; and, as soon as 
it was arranged for her stay in Cranford, she found out 
that Mrs. Jamieson’s visit to Cheltenham was just the 
best thing in the world. She had let her house in Edin- 
burgh, and was for the time houseless, so the charge of her 
sister-in-law’s comfortable abode was very convenient and 
acceptable. 

Miss Pole was very much inclined to install herself as a 
heroine, because of the decided steps she had taken in flying 
from the two men and one woman, whom she entitled 
“that murderous gang.” She described their appearance 
in glowing colors, and I noticed that every time she went 
over the story some fresh trait of villainy was added to 
their appearance. One was tall — he grew to be gigantic 
in height before we had done with him ; he, of course, had 
black hair — and by and by it hung in elf-locks over his 
forehead and down his back. The other was short and 
broad — and a hump sprouted out on his shoulder before 
we heard the last of him ; he had red hair— which deepened 
into carroty ; and she was almost sure he had a cast in his 
eye — a decided squint. As for the woman, her eyes glared, 
and she was masculine-looking, — a perfect virago; most 
probably a man dressed in woman’s clothes: afterward we 


THE PANIC 


179 


heard of a beard on her chin, and a manly voice and a 
stride. 

If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of 
that afternoon to all inquirers, others were not so proud 
of their adventures in the robbery line. Mr. Hoggins, 
the surgeon* had been attacked at his own door by two 
ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of the porch, 
and so effectually silenced him, that he was robbed in the 
interval between ringing his bell and the servant’s answer- 
ing it. Miss Pole was sure it would turn out that this 
robbery had been committed by “her men,” and went the 
very day she heard of the report to have her teeth exam- 
ined, and to question Mr. Hoggins. She came to us after- 
ward ; so we heard what she had heard, straight and direct 
from the source, while we were yet in the excitement and 
flutter of the agitation caused by the first intelligence; for 
the event had only occurred the night before. 

“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the decision 
of a person who has made up her mind as to the nature of 
life and the world (and such people never tread lightly or 
seat themselves without a bump) — “Well, Miss Matty! 
men will be men. Every mother’s son of them wishes to 
be considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one- — too 
strong ever to be beaten or discomfited — too wise ever to 
be outwitted. If you will notice, they have always fore- 
seen events, though they never tell one for one’s warning 
before the events happen ; my father was a man, and I 
know the sex pretty well.” 

She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have 
been very glad to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but 
w T e did not exactly know w T hat to say, or which man had 


180 


CRANFORD 


suggested this diatribe against the sex; so we only joined 
in generally, with a grave shake of the head, and a soft 
murmur of “They are very incomprehensible, certainly!” 

“Now only think,” said she. “There I have undergone 
the risk of having one of my remaining teeth drawn (for 
one is terribly at the mercy of any surgeon-dentist; and I, 
for one, always speak them fair till I have got my mouth 
out of their clutches), and after all, Mr. Hoggins is too 
much of a man to own that he was, robbed last night.” 

“Not robbed !” exclaimed the chorus. 

“Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry that we 
could be for a moment imposed upon. “I believe he was 
robbed, just as Betty told me, and he is ashamed to own 
it; and, to be sure, it was very silly of him to be robbed 
just at his own door; I dare say he feels that such a thing 
won’t raise him in the eyes of Cranford society, and is 
anxious to conceal it ; but he need not have tried to impose 
upon me, by saying I must have heard an exaggerated 
account of some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it 
seems, was stolen out of the safe 1 in his yard last week; he 
had the impertinence to add, he believed that that was 
taken by the cat. I have no doubt, if I could get at the 
bottom of it, it was that Irishman dressed up in woman’s 
clothes, who came spying about my house, with the story 
about the starving children.” 

After, we had duly condemned the want of candor 
which Mr.' Hoggins had evinced, and abused men in gen- 
eral, taking him for the representative and type, we got 
round to the subject about which we had been talking 
when Miss Pole came in — namely, how far, in the present 

l A hanging closet for storing provisions. 


THE PANIC 


181 


disturbed state of the country, we could venture to accept 
an invitation which Miss Matty had just received from 
Mrs. Forrester, to come as usual and keep the anniversary 
of her wedding-day, by drinking tea with her at five 
o’clock, and playing a quiet pool afterward. Mrs. For- 
rester had said that she asked us with some diffidence, 
because the roads were, she feared, very unsafe. But she 
suggested that perhaps one of us would not object to take 
the sedan ; and that the others, by walking briskly, might 
keep up with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we 
might all arrive safely at Over Place,, a suburb of the 
town. (No. That is too large an expression: a small 
cluster of houses separated from Cranford by about two 
hundred yards of a dark and lonely lane.) There was 
no doubt but that a similar note was awaiting Miss Pole 
at home; so her call was a very fortunate affair, as it 
enabled us to consult together. We would all much 
rather have declined this invitation ; but we felt that it 
would not be quite kind to Mrs. Forrester, who would 
otherwise be left to a solitary retrospect of her not very 
happy or fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss Pole had 
been visitors on this occasion for many years ; and now 
they gallantly determined to nail their colors to the mast, 
and to go through Darkness Lane rather than fail in loy- 
alty to their friend. 

But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was 
she who was voted into the chair, as she had a cold), 
before being shut down in the sedan, like jack-in-a-box, 
implored the chairman, whatever might befall, not to run 
away and leave her fastened up there, to be murdered ; 
and even after they had promised, I saw her tighten her 


182 


CRANFORD 


features into the stern determination of a martyr, and 
she gave me a melancholy and ominous shake of the head 
through the glass. However, we got there safely, only 
rather out of breath, for it was who could trot hardest 
through Darkness Lane, and I amafraid poor Miss Matty 
was sadly jolted. 

Mrs. Forrester had made extra preparations in acknowl- 
edgment of our exertion in coming to see her through 
such dangers. The usual forms of genteel ignorance as 
to what her servants might send up were all gone through ; 
and harmony and Preference seemed likely to be the order 
of the evening, but for an interesting conversation that 
began I don’t know how, but which had relation, of 
course, to the robbers who infested the neighborhood of 
Cranford. 

Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus 
having a little stock of reputation for courage to fall back 
upon; and also, I dare say, desirous of proving ourselves 
superior to men ( videlicet Mr. Hoggins), in the article 
of candor, we began to relate our individual fears, and the 
private precautions we each of us took. I owned that my 
pet apprehension was eyes — eyes looking at me, and watch- 
ing me, glittering out from some dull flat wooden sur- 
face; and that if I dared to go up to my looking-glass when 
I was panic-stricken, I should certainly turn it round, 
with its back toward me, for fear of seeing eyes behind 
me looking out of the darkness. I saw Miss Matty nerv- 
ing herself up for a confession; and at last out it came. 
She owned that, ever since she had been a girl, she had 
dreaded being caught by her last leg, just as she was get- 
ting into bed,, by some one concealed under the bed. She 


THE PANIC 


183 


said, when she was younger and more active, she used to 
take a flying leap from a distance, and so bring both her 
legs up safely into bed at once; but that this had always 
annoyed Deborah, who piqued herself upon getting into 
bed gracefully, and she had given it up in consequence. 
But now the old terror would often come over her, espe- 
cially since Miss Pole’s house had been attacked (we had 
got quite to believe in the fact of the attack having taken 
place), and yet it was very unpleasant to think of looking 
under a bed, and seeing a man concealed, with a great 
fierce face staring out at you ; so she had bethought herself 
of something — perhaps I had noticed that she had told 
Martha to buy her a penny ball, such as children play 
with — and now she rolled this ball under the bed every 
night ; if it came out on the other side, well and good ; if 
not, she always took care to have her hand on the bell- 
rope, and meant to call out John and Harry, just as if she 
expected men-servants to answer her ring. 

We all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss 
Matty sank back into dignified silence, with a look at 
Mrs. Forrester as if to ask for her private weakness. 

Mrs. Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried 
to change the subject a little, by telling us that she had 
borrowed a boy from one of the neighboring cottages, and 
promised his parents a hundred weight of coals at Christ- 
mas, and his supper every evening, for the loan of him at 
nights. She had instructed him in his possible duties when 
he first came; and, finding him sensible, she had given 
him the Major’s sword (the Major was her late hus- 
band), and desired him to put it very carefully behind his 
pillow at night, turning the edge toward the head of the 


184 


CRANFORD 


pillow. He was a sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying 
out the Major’s cocked hat, he had said, if he might have 
that to wear he was sure he could frighten tw T o English- 
men or four Frenchmen, any day. But she had impressed 
upon him anew that he was to lose no time in putting on 
Eats or anything else; but, if he heard any noise, he was 
to run at it with his drawn sword. On my suggestion 
that some accident might occur from such slaughterous 
and indiscriminate directions, and that he might rush on 
Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her before he 
had discovered that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs. For- 
rester said she did not think that that was likely, for he 
was a very sound sleeper, and generally had to be well 
shaken, or cold-pigged 1 in a morning, before they could 
rouse him. She sometimes thought such dead sleep must 
be owing to the hearty suppers the poor lad ate, for he was 
half starved at home., and she told Jenny to see that he got 
a good meal at night. 

Still this was no confession of Mrs. Forrester’s peculiar 
timidity, and we urged her to tell us what she thought 
would frighten her more than anything. She paused, and 
stirred the fire, and snuffed the candles, and then she said, 
in a sounding whisper: 

“Ghosts!” 

She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say she had 
declared it, and would stand by it. Such a look was a 
challenge in itself. Miss Pole came down upon her with 
indigestion, spectral illusions, optical delusions, and a great 
deal out of Dr. Ferrier and Dr. Hibbert 2 besides. Miss 

i Awakened by cold water from a, piggin or jar. 

2 Writers on psychic phenomena. 


THE . PANIC 


185 


Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as I have said before, 
and what little she did say, was all on Mrs. Forrester’s 
side, who, emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts 
were a part of her religion ; that surely she, the widow of 
a major in the army, knew what to be frightened at, and 
what not; in short, I never saw Mrs. Forrester so warm 
either before or since, for she was a gentle, meek, enduring 
old lady in most things. Not all the elder wine that ever 
was mulled, could this night wash out the remembrance 
of this difference between Miss Pole and her hostess. 
Indeed, when the elder w T ine was brought in, it gave rise 
to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little maiden 
who staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of 
having seen a ghost with her own eyes, not so many nights 
ago, in Darkness Lane-— the very lane we were to go 
through on our way home. 

In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last 
consideration gave me, I could not help being amused at 
Jenny’s position, which was exceedingly like that of a 
witness being examined and cross-examined by two counsel 
who are not at all scrupulous about asking leading ques- 
tions. The conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had 
certainly seen something beyond what a fit of indigestion 
would have caused. A lady all in white, and without her 
head, was what she deposed and adhered to, supported by 
a consciousness of the secret sympathy of her mistress 
under the withering scorn with which Miss Pole regarded 
her. And not only she, but many others, had seen this 
headless lady, who sat by the roadside wringing her hands 
as in deep grief. Mrs. Forrester looked at us from time 
to time, with an air of conscious triumph ; but then she 


186 


CRANFORD 


had not to pass through Darkness Lane before she could 
bury herself beneath her own familiar bedclothes. 

We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady 
while we were putting on our things to go home, for there 
was no knowing how near the ghostly head and ears might 
be, or what spiritual connection they might be keeping up 
with the unhappy body in Darkness Lane ; and, therefore, 
even Miss Pole felt that it was as well not to speak 
lightly on such subjects, for fear of vexing or insulting 
that wobegone trunk. At least, so I conjecture; for, 
instead of the busy clatter usual in the operation, we tied 
on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a funeral. Miss Matty 
drew the curtains round the windows of the chair to shut 
out disagreeable sights; and the men (either because they 
were in spirits that their labors were so nearly ended, or 
because they were going down hill) set off at such a round 
and merry pace, that it was all Miss Pole and I could do 
to keep up with them. She had breath for nothing beyond 
an imploring “Don’t leave me!” uttered as she clutched 
my arm so tightly that I could not have quitted her, ghost 
or no ghost. What a relief it was when the men, weary 
of their burden and their quick trot, stopped just where 
Headingley Causeway branches off from Darkness Lane! 
M iss Pole unloosed me and caught at one of the men. 

“Could not you — could not you take Miss Matty round 
by Headingley Causeway — the pavement in Darkness Lane 
jolts so, and she is not very strong?” 

A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the 
chair : 

“Oh! pray go on! what is the matter? What is the 


THE PANIC 


187 


matter ? I will give you sixpence more to go on very fast ; 
pray don’t stop here!” 

“And I will give you a shilling,” said Miss Pole, with 
tremulous dignity, “if you’ll go by Headingley Causeway.” 

The two men grunted acquiescence, and took up the 
chair and went along the causeway, which certainly an- 
swered Miss Pole’s kind purpose of saving Miss Matty’s 
bones; for it was covered with soft,, thick mud, and even 
a fall there would have been easy, till the getting up 
came, when there might have been some difficulty in 
extrication. 


CHAPTER XI 


SAMUEL BROWN 

The next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss 
Pole, setting out on a long walk to find some old woman 
who was famous in the neighborhood for her skill in knit- 
ting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to me, with a smile 
half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her countenance: 
“I have been just telling Lady Glenmire of our poor 
friend Mrs. Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes 
from living so much alone, and listening to the bugaboo 
stories of that Jenny of hers.” She was so calm and so 
much above superstitious fears herself that I was almost 
ashamed to say how glad I had been of her Headingley 
Causeway proposition the night before, and turned off the 
conversation to something else. 

In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to 
tell her of the adventure — the real adventure they had met 
with on their morning’s walk. They had been perplexed 
about the exact path which they were to take across the 
fields, in order to find the knitting old woman, and had 
stopped to inquire at a little wayside public house, standing 
on the high road to London, about three miles from 
Cranford. The good woman had asked them to sit down 
and rest themselves, while she fetched her husband, who 
could direct them better than she could ; and, while they 


188 


SAMUEL BROWN 


189 


were sitting in the sanded parlor, a little girl came in. 
They thought that she belonged to the landlady, and began 
some trifling conversation with her; but, on Mrs. Roberts’s 
return, she told them that the little thing was the only 
child of a couple who were staying in the house. And 
then she began a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire 
and Miss Pole could only gather one or two decided facts; 
which were that, about six weeks ago, a light spring-cart 
had broken down just before their door, in which there 
were two men, one woman, and this child. One of the 
men was seriously hurt — no bones broken, only “shaken,” 
the landlady called it ; but he had probably sustained some 
severe internal injury, for he had languished in their house 
ever since, attended by his wife, the mother of this little 
girl. Miss Pole had asked what he was, what he looked 
like. And Mrs. Roberts had made answer that he was 
not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common person ; if it 
had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet 
people, she could almost have thought he was a mounte- 
bank, or something of that kind, for they had a great box 
in the cart, full of she did not know what. She had 
helped to unpack it, and take out their linen and clothes, 
when the other man — his twin-brother, she believed he 
was — had gone off with the horse and cart. 

Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this 
point, and expressed her idea that it was rather strange 
that the box, the cart, and horse and all, should have dis- 
appeared ; but good Mrs. Roberts seemed to have become 
quite indignant at Miss Pole’s implied suggestion ; in fact, 
Miss Pole said she was as angry as if Miss Pole had told 
her that she herself was a swindler. As the best way of 


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CRANFORD 


convincing the ladies, she bethought her of begging them 
to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole said, there was no 
doubting the honest, worn, bronze face of the woman, 
who, at the first tender word from Lady Glenmire, burst 
into tears, which she was too weak to check, until some 
word from the landlady made her swallow down her sobs, 
in order that she might testify to the Christian kindness 
shown by Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. Miss Pole came round 
with a swing to as vehement a belief in the sorrowful tale 
as she had been skeptical before; and, as a proof of this, 
her energy in the poor sufferer’s behalf was nothing 
daunted when she found out that he, and no other, was our 
Signor Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been attribut- 
ing all manner of evil this six w T eeks past! Yes! his wife 
said his proper name was Samuel Brown — “Sam,” she 
called him — but to the last we preferred calling him “the 
Signor” : it sounded so much better. 

The end of their conversation w r ith the Signora Brunoni 
was, that it was agreed that he should be placed under 
medical advice, and for any expense incurred in procuring 
this Lady Glenmire promised to hold herself responsible, 
and had accordingly gone to Mr. Hoggins to beg him 
ride over to the Rising Sun that very afternoon, and 
examine into the Signor’s real state; and as Miss Pole 
said, if it was desirable to remove him to Cranford, to be 
more immediately under Mr. Hoggins’s eye, she would 
undertake to see for lodgings, and arrange about the rent. 
Mrs. Roberts had been as kind as could be all throughout, 
but it was evident that their long residence there had been 
a slight inconvenience. 

Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as 


SAMUEL BROWN 


191 


-full of the morning’s adventure as she was. We talked 
about it all the evening, turning it in every possible light, 
and we went to bed anxious for the morning, when we 
should surely hear from some one what Mr. Hoggins 
thought and recommended. For, as Miss Matty observed., 
though Mr. Hoggins did say “Jack’s up,” “a fig for his 
heels ,” 1 and call Preference “Pref,” she believed he 
was a very worthy man, and a very clever surgeon. 
Indeed, we were rather proud of our doctor at Cranford, 
as a doctor. We often wished, when we heard of Queen 
Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being ill, that they 
would send for Mr. Hoggins; but, on consideration, we 
were rather glad they did not, for if we were ailing, what 
should we do if Mr. Hoggins had been appointed phy- 
sician in ordinary to the royal family? As a surgeon we 
were proud of him, but as a man — or rather, I should say, 
as a gentleman — we could only shake our heads over his 
name and himself,, and wished that he had read Lord 
Chesterfield’s Letters in the days when his manners were 
susceptible of improvement. Nevertheless, we all re- 
garded his dictum in the Signor’s case as infallible; and 
when he said that with care and attention he might rally, 
we had no more fear for him. 

But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as 
much as if there was great cause for anxiety — as indeed 
there was, until Mr. Hoggins took charge of him. Miss 
Pole looked out clean and comfortable, if homely, lodg- 
ings; Miss Matty sent the sedan chair for him; and 
Martha and I aired it well before it left Cranford, by 
holding a warming-pan full of red-hot coals in it, and then 


1 Current slang. 


192 


CRANFORD 


shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time when 
he should get into it at the Rising Sun. Lady Glenmire 
undertook the medical department under Mr. Hoggins’s 
directions; and rummaged up all Mrs. Jamieson’s medi- 
cine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in a free-and-easy 
way, that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious as to what 
that lady and Mr. Mulliner might say, if they knew. 
Mrs. Forrester made some of the bread-jelly for which she 
was so famous, to have ready as a refreshment in the lodg- 
ings when he should arrive. A present of this bread-jelly 
was the highest mark of favor dear Mrs. Forrester could 
confer. Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but 
she had met with a very decided rebuff; that lady told 
her that she could not part with it to any one during her 
life, and that after her death it was bequeathed, as her 
executors would find, to Miss Matty. What Miss Matty 
* — or, as Mrs. Forrester called her (remembering the clause 
in her will and the dignity of the occasion) Miss Matilda 
Jenkyns — might choose to do with the receipt when it 
came into her possession — whether to make it public, or to 
hand it down as an heirloom — she did not know, nor 
would she dictate. And a mould of this admirable, 
digestible, unique bread-jelly was sent by Mrs. Forrester 
to our poor sick conjurer. Who says that the aristocracy 
are proud? Here was a lady, by birth a Tyrrell, and 
descended from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, 
and in whose veins ran the blood of him who murdered the 
little princes in the Tower, going every day to see what 
dainty dishes she could prepare for Samuel Brown, a 
mountebank! But, indeed, it was wonderful to see what 
kind feelings were called out by this poor man’s coming 


SAMUEL BROWN 


193 


among us. And also wonderful to see how the great Cran- 
ford panic, which had been occasioned by his first coming 
in his Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on his 
second coming — pale and feeble, and with his heavy, filmy 
eyes, that only brightened a very little when they fell upon 
the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and sor- 
rowful little girl. 

Somehow, we all forgot to be afraid. I dare say it was, 
that finding out that he, who had first excited our love of 
the marvellous by his unprecedented arts, had not sufficient 
every-day gifts to manage a shying horse, made us feel as 
if we were ourselves again. Miss Pole came with her 
little basket at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely 
house, and the unfrequented road to it, had never been 
infested by that “murderous gang.” Mrs. Forrester said 
she thought that neither Jenny nor she need mind the head- 
less lady who wept and wailed in Darkness Lane, for surely 
the power was never given to such beings to harm those 
who went about to try to do what little good was in their 
power; to which Jennj^, trembling, assented; but the 
mistress’s theory had little effect on the maid’s practice, 
until she had sewed two pieces of red flannel, in the shape 
of a cross, on her inner garment. 

I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball — the ball 
that she used to roll under her bed — with gay-colored 
worsted in rainbow stripes. 

“My dear,” said she, “my heart is sad for that little 
careworn child. Although her father -is a conjurer., she 
looks as if she had never had a good game of play in her 
life. I used to make very pretty balls in this way when I 
was a girl, and I thought I would try if I could not make 


194 


CRANFORD 


this one smart, and take it to Phoebe this afternoon. I 
think ‘the gang’ must have left the neighborhood, for one 
does not hear any more of their violence and robbery now.” 

We were all of us far too full of the Signor’s precarious 
state to talk about either robbers or ghosts. Indeed, Lady 
Glenmire said, she never had heard of any actual robberies ; 
except that two little boys had stolen some apples from 
JFarmer Benson’s orchard, and that some eggs had been 
missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward’s stall. But 
that was expecting too much of us ; we could not acknowl- 
edge that we had only had this small foundation for all 
our panic. Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark of 
Lady Glenmire’s; and said “that she wished she could 
agree with her as to the very small reason we had had for 
alarm; but, with the recollection of a man disguised as a 
woman, who had endeavored to force herself into her 
house, while his confederates waited outside; with the 
knowledge gained from Lady Glenmire herself, of the 
footprints seen on Mrs. Jamieson’s flower-borders; with 
the fact before her of the audacious robbery committed on 
Mr. Hoggins at his own door — ” But here Lady Glen- 
mire broke in with a very strong expression of doubt a? 
to whether this last story w T as not an entire fabrication, 
founded upon the theft of a cat ; she grew so red while she 
was saying all this, that I was not surprised at Miss Pole’s 
manner of bridling up, and I am certain, if Lady Glen- 
mire had not been “her ladyship,” we should have had a 
more emphatic contradiction than the “Well, to be sure!” 
and similar fragmentary ejaculations, which were all that 
she ventured upon in my lady’s presence. But when she 
was gone, Miss Pole began a long congratulation to Miss 


SAMUEL BROWN 


195 


Matty that so far they had escaped marriage, which she 
noticed always made people credulous to the last degree; 
indeed, she thought it argued great natural credulity in a 
woman if she could not keep herself from being married ; 
and in what Lady Glenmire had said about Mr. Hoggins’s 
robbery, we had a specimen of what people came to if they 
gave way to such weakness; evidently, Lady Glenmire 
would swallow anything, if she could believe the poor 
vamped-up story about a neck of mutton and a pussy, with 
which he had tried to impose on Miss Pole, only she had 
always been on her guard against believing too much of 
what men said. 

We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that 
we had never been married; but I think of the two, we 
were even more thankful that the robbers had left Cran- 
ford; at least I judge so from a speech of Miss Matty’s 
that evening, as we sat over the fire, in which she evidently 
looked upon a husband as a great protector against thieves, 
burglars, and ghosts ; and said that she did not think that 
she should dare to be always warning young people of 
matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually — to be sure, mar- 
riage was a risk, as she saw now she had had some experi- 
ence; but she remembered the time when she had looked 
forward to being married as much as any one. 

“Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, 
hastily checking herself up, as if she were afraid of having 
admitted too much; “only the old story, you know, of 
ladies always saying ‘IV hen I marry,’ and gentlemen, ‘If 
I marry.’ ” It was a joke spoken in rather a sad tone, and 
I doubt if either of us smiled; but I could not see Miss 


196 


CRANFORD 


Matty’s face by the flickering firelight. In a little while 
she continued : 

“But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It is so 
long ago, and no one ever knew how much I thought of it 
at the time, ^unless, indeed, my dear mother guessed ; but I 
may say that there was a time when I did not think I 
should have been only Miss Matty Jenkyns all my life; 
for even if I did meet. with any one who wished to marry 
me now (and as Miss Pole says, one is never too safe), I 
could not take him — I hope he would not take it too much 
to heart, but I could not take him — or any one but the 
person I once thought I should be married to., and he is 
dead and gone, and he never knew how it all came about 
that I said ‘No,’ when I had thought many and many a 
time-well, it’s no matter what I thought. God ordains 
it all, and I am very happy, my dear. No one has such 
kind friends as I,” continued she, taking my hand and hold- 
ing it in hers. 

If I had never known of Mr. Holbrook, I could have 
said something in this pause; but as I had, I could not 
think of anything that would come in naturally, and so 
we both kept silence for a little time. 

“My father once made us,” she began, “keep a diary in 
two columns; on one side we were to put down in the 
morning what we thought would be the course and events 
of the coming day, and at night we were to put down on 
the other side what really had happened. It would be 
to some people rather a sad way of telling their lives” — (a 
tear dropped upon my hand at these words) — “I don’t 
me^.n that mine has been sad, only so very different to what 
I expected. I remember, one winter’s evening, sitting over 


SAMUEL BROWN 


197 


our bedroom fire with Deborah — I remember it as if it 
were yesterday — and we were planning our future lives — 
both of us were planning, though only she talked about it. 
She said she should like to marry an archdeacon, and write 
his charges ; 1 and you know, my dear,, she never was mar- 
ried, and, for aught I know, she never spoke to an un- 
married archdeacon in her life. I never was ambitious, 
nor could I have written charges, but I thought I could 
manage a house (my mother used to call me her right 
hand), and I was always so fond of little children — the 
shyest babies would stretch their little arms to come to 
me — when I was a girl, I was half my leisure time nurs- 
ing in the neighboring cottages; but I don’t know how it 
was, when I grew sad and grave — which I did a year or 
two after this time — the little things drew back from me, 
and I am afraid I lost the knack, though I am just as 
fond of children as ever, and have a strange yearning at 
my heart whenever I see a mother with her baby in her 
arms. Nay, my dear — ” (and by a sudden blaze which 
sprang up from a fall of the unstirred coals, I saw that 
her eyes were full of tears — gazing intently on some vision 
of what might have been) — “do you know, I dream 
sometimes that I have a little child — always the same — a 
little girl of about two years old ; she never grows older, 
though I have dreamed about her for many years. I don’t 
think I ever dream of any words or sound she makes ; she 
is very noiseless and still; but she comes to me when she 
is very sorry or very glad, and I have wakened with the 
clasp of her dear little arms round my neck. Only last 

J A deacon, delegated by a bishop to look after the temporal affairs of the 
diocese. The charges are the instructions to his subordinates. 


198 


CRANFORD 


night — perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of 
this ball for Phoebe — my little darling came in my dream, 
and put up her mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen 
real babies do to real mothers before going to bed. But 
all this is nonsense, dear! — only don’t be frightened by 
Miss Pole from being married. I can fancy it may be a 
very happy state, and a little credulity helps one on through 
life very smoothly — better than always doubting and 
doubting, and seeing difficulties and disagreeables in every- 
thing.” *» 

If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, 
it would not have been Miss Pole to do it; it would have 
been the lot of poor Signor Brunoni and his wife. And 
yet again, it was an encouragement to see how, through 
all their cares and sorrows, they thought of each other and 
not of themselves; and how keen were their joys, if they 
only passed through each other, or through the little 
Phoebe. 

The Signora told me, one dgy, a good deal about their 
lives up to this period. It began by my asking her whether 
Miss Pole’s story of the twin-brothers was true; it sounded 
so wonderful a likeness, that I should have had my doubts, 
if M iss Pole had not been unmarried. But the Signora, 
or (as we found out she preferred to be called) Mrs. 
Brown, said it was quite true; that her brother-in-law 
was by many taken for her husband, which was of great 
assistance to them in their profession; “though,” she con- 
tinued, “how people can mistake Thomas for the real 
Signor Brunoni, I can’t conceive ; but he says they do, so 
I suppose I must believe him. Not but what he is a very 
good man; I am sure I don’t know how we should have 


SAMUEL BROWN 


199 


paid our bill at the Rising Sun,, but for the money he 
sends ; but people must know very little about art, if they 
can take him for my husband. Why, Miss, in the ball 
trick where my husband spreads his fingers wide, and 
throws out his little finger with quite an air and a grace, 
Thomas just clumps up his hand like a fist, and might 
have ever so many balls hidden in it. Besides, he has never 
been in India, and knows nothing of the proper sit of a 
turban.” 

“Have you been in India?” said I, rather astonished. 

“Oh, yes ! many a year, ma’am. Sam was a sergeant in 
the 31st; and when the regiment was ordered to India, I 
drew a lot to go, and I was more thankful than I can tell ; 
for it seemed as if it would only be a slow death to me to 
part from my husband. But, indeed, ma’am, if I had 
known all, I don’t know whether I would not rather have 
died there and then, than gone through what I have done 
since. To be sure, I’ve been able to comfort Sam, and to 
be with him; but, ma’am, I’ve lost six children,” said she, 
looking up at me with those strange eyes, that I have 
never noticed but in mothers of dead children — with a 
kind of wild look in them, as if seeking for what they 
never more might find. “Yes! six children died off, like 
little buds nipped untimely, in that cruel India. I 
thought* as each died, I never could — I never would love 
a child again; and when the next came, it had not only 
its own love, but the deeper love that came from the 
thoughts of its little dead brothers and sisters. And 
when Phoebe was coming, I said to my husband: ‘Sam, 
when the child is born, and I am strong, I shall leave you ; 
it will cut my heart cruel; but if this baby dies too, I shall 


200 


CRANFORD 


go mad ; the madness is in me now ; but if you will let 
me go down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, 
it will, maybe, work itself off ; and I will save, and I will 
hoard, and I will beg — and I will die* to get a passage 
home to England, where our baby may live!’ God bless 
him ! he said I might go ; and he saved up his pay, and I 
saved every pice 1 I could get for washing or any way; 
and when Phoebe came, and I grew strong again, I set 
off. It was very lonely; through the thick forests, dark 
again with their heavy trees — along by the rivers’ side — 
(but I had been brought up near the Avon in Warwick- 
shire, so that flowing noise sounded like home). From 
station to station, from Indian village to village, I went 
along, carrying my child. I had seen one of the officers’ 
ladies with a little picture, ma’am — done by a Catholic 
foreigner, ma’am — of the Virgin and the little Saviour, 
ma’am. She had him on her arm, and her form was softly 
curled round him, and their cheeks touched. Well, wffien 
I went to bid good-by to this lady, for whom I had 
washed,, she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her chil- 
dren, but she had not another to save, like me ; and I was 
bold enough to ask her, would she give me that print? 
And she cried the more, and said her children were with 
that little blessed Jesus; and gave it me; and told me she 
had heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, 
which made it have that round shape. And when my 
body was very w^eary and my heart was sick — (for there 
were times when I misdoubted if I could ever reach my 
home, and there were times when I thought of my hus- 
band ; and one time when I thought my baby was dying) 

*An Indian coin, less than a cent in value. 


SAMUEL BROWN 


201 


— I took out that picture and looked at it, till I could 
have thought the mother spoke to me, and comforted me. 
.And the natives were very kind. We could not under- 
stand one another; but they saw my baby on my breast, 
and they came out to me, and brought me rice and milk, 
and sometimes flowers — I have got some of the flowers 
dried. Then, the next morning, I was so tired! and 
they wanted me to stay with them — I could tell that — 
and tried to frighten it : 3 from going into the deep woods, 
which, indeed, looked very strange and dark; but it 
seemed to me as if Death was following me to take my 
baby away from me; and as if I must go on, and on. — 
and I thought how God had cared for mothers ever since 
the world was made, and would care for me; so I bade 
them good-by, and set off afresh. And once when my 
baby was ill,, and both she and I needed rest, he led me 
to a place where I found a kind Englishman lived, right 
in the midst of the natives.” 

“And you reached Calcutta safely at last?” 

“Yes! safely. Oh! when I knew I had only two days’ 
journey more before me, I could not help it, ma’am — it 
might be idolatry, I cannot tell — but I was near one of 
the native temples and I went in it with my babe to thank 
God for his great mercy; for it seemed to me that where 
others had prayed before to their God, in their joy or in 
their agony, was of itself a sacred place. And I got as 
servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite fond of my 
baby aboard ship; and in two years’ time Sam earned his 
discharge, and came home to me and to our child. Then 
he had to fix on a trade, but he knew of none; and once, 
once upon a time, he had learned some tricks from an 


202 


CRANFORD 


Indian juggler, so he set up conjuring, and it answered 
so well that he took Thomas to help him — as his man, 
you know, not as another conjurer, though Thomas has. 
set it up now on his own hook. But it has been a great 
help to us, that likeness between the twins, and made a 
good many tricks go off well that they made up together. 
And Thomas is a good brother,, only he has not the fine 
carriage of my husband, so that I can’t think how he can 
be taken for Signor Brunoni himself, as he says he is.” 

“Poor little Phoebe!” said I, my thoughts going back 
to the baby she carried all those hundred miles. 

“Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have 
reared her, though, when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad ; 
but that good, kind Aga 1 Jenkyns took us in, which I 
believe was the very saving of her.” 

“Jenkyns,” said I. 

“Yes! Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that name 
are kind; for here is that nice old lady who comes every 
day to take Phoebe a walk!” 

But an idea had flashed through my head: could the 
Aga Jenkyns be the lost Peter? True, he was reported 
by many to be dead. But, equally true, some one had 
said that he had arrived at the dignity of Great Lama 2 
of Thibet. Miss Matty thought he was alive. I would 
make further inquiry. 


*A title of rank among Moslems. 

2 The Great Lama is the chief ecclesiastic of the Buddhists in Thibet. 


CHAPTER XII 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 

Was the “poor Peter” of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns 
of Chunderabaddad, or was he not? As somebody says, 
that was the question. 

In my own home, whenever people had nothing else 
to do, they blamed me for want of discretion. Indiscre- 
tion was my bugbear fault. Everybody has a bugbear 
fault; a sort of standing characteristic — a piece de resist- 
ance for their friends to cut at; and in general they cut 
and come again. I was tired of being called indiscreet 
and incautious ; and I determined for once to prove myself 
a model of prudence and wisdom. I would not even hint 
my suspicions respecting the Aga. I would collect evi- 
dence, and carry it home to lay before my father, as the 
family friend of the two Misses Jenkyns. 

In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a 
description my father had once given of a Ladies’ Com- 
mittee that he had had to preside over. He said he could 
not help thinking of a passage in Dickens, which spoke of 
a chorus in which every man took the tune he knew best, 
and sang it to his own satisfaction. So, at this chari- 
table committee, every lady took the subject uppermost in 
her mind, and talked about it to her own great content- 
ment, but not much to the advancement of the subject 


203 


204 


CRANFORD 


they had met to discuss. But even that committee could 
have been nothing to the Cranford ladies when I at- 
tempted to gain some clear and definite information as to 
poor Peter’s height, appearance, and when and where he 
was seen and heard of last. For instance, I remember 
asking Miss Pole (and I thought the question was very 
opportune, for I put it when I met her at a call at Mrs. 
Forrester’s, and both the ladies had known Peter, and I 
imagined that they might refresh each other’s memories) ; 
I asked Miss Pole what was the very last thing they had 
ever heard about him; and then she named the absurd 
report to which I have alluded, about his having been 
elected Great Lama of Thibet; and this was a signal 
for each lady to go off on her separate idea. Mrs. For- 
rester’s start was made on the Veiled Prophet in Lalla 
Rookh 1 — whether I thought he was meant for the Great 
Lama; though Peter was not so ugly, indeed, rather 
handsome, if he had not been freckled. I was thankful 
to see her double upon Peter; but in a moment the 
delusive lady was off upon Rowland’s Kalydor, and the 
merits of cosmetics and hair-oils in general, and holding 
forth so fluently, that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who 
(through the llamas, the beasts of burden) had got to 
Peruvian bonds, and the share market, and her poor 
opinion of joint-stock banks in general, and of that one 
in particular in which Miss Matty’s money was invested. 
In vain I put in, “When was it — in what year was it, 
that you heard that Mr. Peter w T as the Great Lama?” 
They only joined issue to dispute whether llamas were 
carnivorous animals or not, in which dispute they were 

*A collection of oriental tales in verse by Thomas Moore. 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


205 


not quite on fair grounds, as Mrs. Forrester (after they 
had grown warm and cool again) acknowledged that she 
always confused carnivorous and graminivorous together, 
just as she did horizontal and perpendicular; but then she 
apologized for it very prettily by saying that in her day 
the only use people made of four-syllabled words was to 
teach how they should be spelled. 

The only fact I gained from this conversation was 
that certainly Peter had last been heard of in India, “or 
that neighborhood” ; and that this scanty intelligence of 
his whereabouts had reached Cranford in the year when 
Miss Pole had bought her India muslin gown, long since 
worn out (we washed it, and mended it, and traced its 
decline and fall into a window-blind, before we could 
go on) ; and in a year when Wombwell came to Cranford, 
because Miss Matty had wanted to see an elephant, in 
order that she might the better imagine Peter riding on 
one, and had seen a boa-constrictor too, which was more 
than she wished to imagine in her fancy pictures of Peter’s 
locality— and in a year when Miss Jenkyns had learned 
some piece of poetry off by heart, and used to say, at all 
the Cranford parties, how Peter was “surveying mankind 
from China to Peru ,” 1 which everybody had thought 
very grand, and rather appropriate, because India was 
between China and Peru, if you took care to turn the 
globe to the left instead of the right. 

I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent 
curiosity excited in the minds of my friends, made us blind 
and deaf to what was going on around us. It seemed to 
me as if the sun rose and shone, and as if the rain rained 

1 From Dr. Johnson’s poem The Vanity of Human Wishes. 


206 


CRANFORD 


on Cranford just as usual, and I did not notice any sign 
of the times that could be considered as a prognostic of 
any uncommon event; and, to the best of my belief, not 
only Miss Matty and Mrs. Forrester, but even Miss Pole 
herself, whom we looked upon as a kind of prophetess, 
from the knack she had of foreseeing things before they 
came to pass — although she did not like to disturb her 
friends by telling them her foreknowledge — even Miss 
Pole herself was breathless with astonishment, when she 
came to tell us of the astounding piece of news. But I 
must recover myself; the contemplation of it, even at this 
distance of time, has taken away my breath and my gram- 
mar, and unless I subdue my emotion, my spelling will 
go too. 

We were sitting — Miss Matty and I — much as usual; 
she in the blue chintz easy chair, with her back to the 
light, and her knitting in her hand; I reading aloud the 
St. James's Chronicle. A few minutes more, and we 
should have gone to make the little alterations in dress 
usual before calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. 
I remember the scene and the date well. We had been 
talking of the Signor’s rapid recovery since the warmer 
weather had set in, and praising Mr. Hoggins’s skill, and 
lamenting his want of refinement and manner — (it seems a 
curious coincidence that this should have been our subject, 
but so it was) — when a knock was heard ; a caller’s knock 
— three distinct taps — and we were flying (that is to say, 
Miss Matty could not walk very fast, having had a touch 
of rheumatism) to our rooms, to change caps and collars, 
when Miss Pole arrested us by calling out as she came 
up the stairs: “Don’t go, — I can’t wait — it is not twelve, 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


207 


I know — but never mind your dress — I must speak to 
you.” We did our best to look as if it was not we who 
had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she 
had heard; for, of course, we did not like to have it sup- 
posed that we had any old clothes that it was convenient 
to wear out in the ‘‘sanctuary of home,” as Miss Jenkyns 
once prettily called the back parlor, where she was tying 
up preserves. So we threw our gentility with double 
force into our manners,, and very genteel we were for two 
minutes, while Miss Pole recovered breath, and excited 
our curiosity strongly by lifting up her hands in amaze- 
ment, and bringing them down in silence, as if what she 
had to say was too big for words, and could only be 
expressed by pantomime. 

“What do you think, Miss Matty? What do you 
think? Lady Glenmire is to marry — is to be married, I 
mean — Lady Glenmire — Mr. Hoggins — Mr. Hoggins is 
going to marry Lady Glenmire !” 

“Marry!” said we. “Marry? Madness!” 

“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that be- 
longed to her character. “/ said ‘Marry!’ as you do; 
and I also said, ‘What a fool my lady is going to make 
of herself!’ I could have said ‘Madness!’ but I controlled 
myself, for it was in a public shop that I heard of it. 
Where feminine delicacy is gone to, I don’t know! You 
and I, Miss Matty, would have been ashamed to have 
known that our marriage was spoken of in a grocer’s 
shop, in the hearing of shopmen!” 

“But,” said Miss Matty, sighing as one recovering from 
a blow, “perhaps it is not true. Perhaps we are doing 
her injustice.” 


208 


CRANFORD 


“No,’* said Miss Pole,, “I have taken care to ascertain 
that. I went straight to Mrs. Fitz-Adam, to borrow a 
cookery book which I knew she had ; and I introduced my 
congratulations apropos of the difficulty gentlemen must 
have in housekeeping; and Mrs. Fitz-Adam bridled up 
and said that she believed it was true, though how and 
where I could have heard it she did not know. She said 
her brother and Lady Glenmire had come to an under- 
standing at last. ‘Understanding!’ such a coarse word! 
But my lady will have to come down to many a want of 
refinement. I have reason to believe Mr. Hoggins sups 
on bread and cheese and beer every night.” 

“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. “Well! I 
never thought of it. Two people that we know going to 
be married. It’s coming very near.” 

“So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard 
of it, while you might have counted twelve,” said Miss 
Pole. 

“One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, 
in Cranford, poor Lady Glenmire might have thought 
herself safe,” said Miss Matty, with a gentle pity in her 
tones. 

“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her head. “Don’t 
you remember poor dear Captain Brown’s song, Tibbie 
Fowler, and the line : 

“Set her on the Tintock Tap, 

The wind will blaw a man ’till her.” 

“That was because ‘Tibbie Fowler’ was rich, I think.” 

“Well, there is a kind of attraction about Lady Glen- 
mire that I, for one, should be ashamed to have.” 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


209 


I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied 
Mr. Hoggins? I am not surprised that Mr. Hoggins has 
liked her.” 

“Oh! I don’t know. Mr. Hoggins is rich, and very 
pleasant-looking,” said Miss Matty, “and very good- 
tempered and kind-hearted.” 

“She has married for an establishment, that’s it. I sup- 
pose she takes the surgery with it,” said Miss Pole, with a 
little dry laugh at her own joke. But, like many people 
who think they have made a severe and sarcastic speech, 
which yet is clever of its kind, she began to relax in her 
grimness from the moment when she made this allusion 
to the surgery; and we turned to speculate on the way 
in which Mrs. Jamieson would receive the news. The 
person whom she had left in charge of her house to keep 
off followers from her maids, to set up a follower of her 
own ! And that follower a man whom Mrs. Jamieson 
had tabooed as vulgar and inadmissible to Cranford so- 
ciety, not merely on account of his name, but because of 
his voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, 
and himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see 
Lady Glenmire at Mrs. Jamieson’s? Chloride of lime 
would not purify the house, in its owner’s estimation, if 
he had. Or had their interviews been confined to the 
occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick con- 
jurer, to whom, with all our sense of the mesalliance , we 
could not help allowing that they both had been exceed^ 
ingly kind? And now it turned out that a servant of 
Mrs. Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr. Hoggins had been 
attending her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into 
the fold, and now he was carrying off the shepherdess. 


210 


CRANFORD 


What would Mrs. Jamieson say? We looked into the 
darkness of futurity as a child gazes after a rocket up in 
the cloudy sky, full of wondering expectation of the rattle, 
the discharge, and the brilliant shower of sparks and light. 
Then we brought ourselves down to earth and the present 
time by questioning each other (being all equally ignorant, 
and all equally without the slightest data to build any 
conclusions upon) as to when it would take place? 
Where? How much a year Mr. Hoggins had? Whether 
she would drop her title? And how Martha and the 
other correct servants in Cranford would ever be brought 
to announce a married couple as Lady Glenmire and Mr. 
Hoggins? But would they be visited? Would Mrs. 
Jamieson let us? Or must we choose between the Honor- 
able Mrs. Jamieson and the degraded Lady Glenmire? 
We all liked Lady Glenmire the best. She was bright, 
and kind, and sociable, and agreeable; and Mrs. Jamieson 
was dull, and inert, and pompous, and tiresome. But we 
had acknowledged the sway of the latter so long, that it 
seemed like a kind of disloyalty now even to meditate dis- 
obedience to the prohibition we anticipated. 

Mrs. Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and 
patched collars ; and we forgot all about them in our 
eagerness to see how she would bear the information, 
which we honorably left to Miss Pole to impart, although, 
if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage, we 
might have rushed in ourselves, for she had a most out-of- 
place fit of coughing for five minutes after Mrs. Forrester 
entered the room. I shall never forget the imploring ex- 
pression of her eyes as she looked at us over her pocket- 
handkerchief. They said, as plain as words could speak, 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


211 


“Don’t let Nature deprive me of the treasure which is 
mine, although for a time I can make no use of it.” And 
we did not. 

Mrs. Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours ; and her 
sense of injury rather greater, because she had to feel for 
her Order, and saw more fully than we could do how such 
conduct brought stains on the aristocracy. 

When she and Miss Pole left us, we endeavored to sub- 
side into calmness; but Miss Matty was really upset by 
the intelligence she had heard. She reckoned it up, and it 
was more than fifteen years since she had heard of any of 
her acquaintance going to be married, with the one ex- 
ception of Miss Jessie Brown ; and, as she said,, it gave her 
quite a shock, and made her feel as if she couldn’t think 
what would happen next. 

I don’t know if it is a fancy of mine or a real fact, but 
I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an 
engagement in any set, the unmarried ladies in that set 
flutter out in an unusual gayety and newness of dress, as 
much as to say in a tacit and unconscious manner, “We 
also are spinsters.” Miss Matty and Miss Pole talked and 
thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls dur- 
ing the fortnight that succeeded this call than I had known 
them to do for years before. But it might be the spring 
weather, for it was a warm and pleasant March; and 
merinos and beavers, and woolen materials of all sorts, 
were but ungracious receptacles of the bright sun’s glan- 
cing rays. It had not been Lady Glenmire’s dress that 
had won Mr. Hoggins’s heart, for she went about on her 
errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although in 
the hurried glimpses I caught of her at church or else- 


212 


CRANFORD 


where, she appeared rather to shun meeting any of her 
friends, her face seemed to have almost something of the 
flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder, and more 
trembling full than in their old compressed state, and her 
eyes dwelt on all things with a lingering light, as if she 
was learning to love Cranford and its belongings. Mr. 
Hoggins looked broad and radiant., and creaked up the 
middle aisle at church in a bran-new pair of top-boots — 
an audible as well as visible sign of his purposed change 
of state ; for the tradition went that the boots he had worn 
till now were the identical pair in which he first set out 
on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five years ago; only 
they had been new-pieced, high and low, top and bottom, 
heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times 
than any one could tell. 

None of the ladies of Cranford chose to sanction the 
marriage by congratulating either of the parties. We 
wished to ignore the whole affair until our liege lady, 
Mrs. Jamieson, returned. Till she came back to give us 
our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the 
engagement in the same light as the Queen of Spain’s 
legs — facts which certainly existed, but the less said about 
the better. This restraint upon our tongues — for you see, 
if we did not speak about it to any of the parties concerned, 
how could w T e get answers to the questions that we longed 
to ask? — was beginning to be irksome, and our idea of 
the dignity of silence was paling before our curiosity, when 
another direction was given to our thoughts, by an an- 
nouncement on the part of the principal shopkeeper of 
Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and cheese- 
monger to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


213 


Spring Fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on 
the following Tuesday, at his rooms in High Street. Now 
Miss Matty had been only waiting for this before buying 
herself a new silk gown. I had offered., it is true, to send 
to Drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my pro- 
posal, gently implying that she had not forgotten her dis- 
appointment about the sea-green turban. I was thankful 
that I w T as on the spot now, to counteract the dazzling 
fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk. 

I must say a word or two here about myself. I have 
spoken of my father’s old friendship for the Jenkyns 
family; indeed, I am not sure if there was not some distant 
relationship. He had willingly allowed me to remain all 
the winter at Cranford, in consideration of a letter which 
Miss Matty had written to him about the time of the 
panic, in which I suspect she had exaggerated my powers 
and my bravery as a defender of the house. But now that 
the days were longer and more cheerful, he was beginning 
to urge the necessity of my return ; and I only delayed in 
a sort of odd forlorn hope that, if I could obtain any clear 
information, I might make the account given by the Sig- 
nora of the Aga Jenkyns tally with that of “poor Peter,” 
his appearance and disappearance, which I had winnowed 
out of the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester. 


CHAPTER XIII 


STOPPED PAYMENT 

The very Tuesday morning on which Mr. Johnson was 
going to show fashions, the post-woman brought two let- 
ters to the house. I say the post-woman, but I should say 
the postman’s wife. He was a lame shoemaker, a very 
clean, honest man, much respected in the town; but he 
never brought the letters round, except on unusual occa- 
sions, such as Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on 
those days the letters, which should have been delivered 
at eight in the morning, did not make their appearance 
until two or three in the afternoon; for every one liked 
poor Thomas, and gave him a welcome on these festive 
occasions. He used to say, “He was welly stawed 1 wi’ 
eating, for there w r ere three or four houses where nowt 
would serve ’em but he must share in their breakfast” ; 
and by the time he had done his last breakfast, he came 
to some other friend who was beginning dinner; but come 
what might in the way of temptation, Tom was always 
sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to 
say, it was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not w^ould 
call out that precious quality in some minds, where, but for 
Thomas, it might have lain dormant and undiscovered. 

*A Scotch word meaning to be brought to a standstill. 

214 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


215 


Patience was certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns’s 
mind. She was always expecting letters, and always 
drumming on the table till the post-woman had called or 
gone past. On Christmas Day and Good Friday, she 
drummed from breakfast till church, from church-time till 
two o’clock — unless when the fire wanted stirring, when 
she invariably knocked down the fire-irons, and scolded 
Miss Matty for it. But equally certain was the hearty 
welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; Miss Jenkyns 
standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him as 
to his children — what they were doing — what school they 
went to; upbraiding him if another was likely to make 
its appearance, but sending even the little babies the shil- 
ling and the mince pie - , which was her gift to all the chil- 
dren, with half a crown in addition for both father and 
mother. The Post was not of half so much consequence 
to dear Miss Matty; but not for the world would she 
have diminished Thomas’s welcome, and his dole, though 
I could see that she felt rather shy over the ceremony, 
which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious 
opportunity for giving advice and benefiting her fellow- 
creatures. Miss Matty would steal the money all in a 
lump into his hand, as if she were ashamed of herself. 
Miss Jenkyns gave him each individual coin separate, with 
a “There! that’s for yourself; that’s for Jenny,” etc. 
Miss Matty would even beckon Martha out of the kitchen 
while he ate his food ; and once,, to my knowledge, winked 
at its rapid disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-hand- 
kerchief. Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he did not 
leave a clean plate,, however heaped it might have been, 
and gave an injunction with every mouthful. 


216 


CRANFORD 


I have wandered a long way from the two letters 
that awaited us on the breakfast-table that Tuesday morn- 
ing. Mine was from my father. Miss Matty’s was 
printed. My father’s was just a man’s letter; I mean it 
was very dull, and gave no information beyond that he 
was well, that they had had a good deal of rain, that 
trade was very stagnant, and that there were many dis- 
agreeable rumors afloat. He then asked me if I knew 
whether Miss Matty still retained her shares in the Town 
and County Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports 
about it; though nothing more than he had always fore- 
seen, and had prophesied to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when 
she would invest their little property in it — the only 
unwise step that clever woman had ever taken, to his 
knowledge — (the only time she ever acted against his 
advice, I knew). However, if anything had gone wrong, 
of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty while 
I could be of any use, etc. 

“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very 
civil invitation, signed Edward Wilson, asking me to 
attend an important meeting of the shareholders of the 
Town and County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on 
Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure it is very attentive 
of them to remember me.” 

I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” for 
though I did not know much about business, I feared it 
confirmed wdiat my father said; however, I thought, ill 
news always came fast enough, so I resolved to say nothing 
about my alarm, and merely told her that my father was 
w T ell, and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning 
over, and admiring her letter. At last she spoke : 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


217 


“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; 
but that I did not wonder at, for everybody knew she 
was so clear-headed. I am afraid I could not help them 
much; indeed, if they came to accounts, I should be quite 
in the way, for I never could do sums in my head. Deb- 
orah, I know, rather wished to go, and w^ent so far as to 
order a new bonnet for the occasion ; but when the time 
came, she had a bad cold ; so they sent a very polite account 
of what they had done. Chosen a director, I think it was. 
Do you think they want me to help them to choose a 
director? I am sure I should choose your father at 
once.” 

“My father has no shares in the biink,” said I. 

“Oh no! I remember! He objected very much to 
Deborah’s buying any, I believe. But she was quite the 
woman of business,, and always judged for herself; and 
here, you see, they have paid eight per cent all these years.” 

It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my 
half knowledge; so I thought I would change the con- 
versation, and I asked at what time she thought we had 
better go and see the fashions. “Well, my dear,” she said, 
“the thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after twelve; 
but then, you see,, all Cranford will be there, and one does 
not like to be too curious about dress, and trimmings, and 
caps, with all the world looking on. It is never genteel 
to be over-curious on these occasions. Deborah had the 
knack of always looking as if the latest fashion was noth- 
ing new to her; a manner she had caught from Lady 
Arley, who did see all the new modes in London, you 
know. So I thought we would just slip down this morn- 
ing, soon after breakfast; for I do want half a pound of 


218 


CRANFORD 


tea; and then we could go up and examine the things at 
our leisure, and see exactly how my new silk gown must i 
be made; and then, after twelve, we could go with our 
minds disengaged,, and free from thoughts of dress.” 

We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I 
discovered that it would be really the first time in her life 
that she had had to choose anything of consequence for 
herself; for Miss Jenkyns had always been the more 
decided character, whatever her taste might have been ; 
and it is astonishing how such people carry the world 
before them by the mere force of will. Miss Matty 
anticipated the sight of the glossy folds with as much 
delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the purchase, 
could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering my 
own loss of two hours in a toy-shop before I could tell on 
what wonder to spend a silver threepence) I was very 
glad that we were going early, that dear Miss Matty 
might have leisure for the delights of perplexity. 

If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was 
to be sea-green; if not, she inclined to maize, and I to 
silver gray; and we discussed the requisite number of 
breadths until we arrived at the shop door. We were to 
buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the iron 
corkscrew stairs that led into what was once a loft, though 
now a Fashion showroom. 

The young men at Mr. Johnson’s had on their best 
looks, and their best cravats, and pivoted themselves over 
the counter with surprising activity. They wanted to 
show us upstairs at once; but on the principle of business 
first and pleasure afterward, we stayed to purchase the 
tea. Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


219 


If she was made aware that she had been drinking green 
tea at any time, she always thought it her duty to lie awake 
half through the night afterward — (I have known her 
take it in ignorance many a time without such effects) — 
and consequently green tea was prohibited the house; yet 
to-day she herself asked for the obnoxious article, under 
the impression that she was talking about the silk. How- 
ever, the mistake was soon rectified ; and then the silks 
were unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop was 
pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and 
many of the farmers and country people from the neigh- 
borhood round came in, sleeking down their hair,, arid 
glancing shyly about from under their eyelids, as anxious 
to take back some notion of the unusual gayety to the 
mistress or the lasses at home, and yet feeling that they 
were out of place among the smart shopmen, and gay 
shawls, and summer prints. One honest-looking man, 
however, made his way up to the counter at which we 
stood, and boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The 
other countryfolk confined themselves to the grocery side; 
but our neighbor was evidently too full of some kind 
attention toward mistress, wife, or daughter, to be shy; 
and it soon became a question to me whether he or Miss 
Matty would keep their shopman the longest time. He 
thought each shawl more beautiful than the last; and as 
for Miss Matty, she smiled and sighed over each fresh 
bale that was brought out; one color set off another, and 
the heap together would, as she said, make even the rain- 
bow look poor. 

“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, “whichever I choose 
I shall wish I had taken another. Look at this lovely 


220 


CRANFORD 


crimson! it would be so warm in winter. But spring is 
coming on, you know. I wish I could have a gown for 
every season,” said she, dropping her voice — as we all did 
in Cranford whenever we talked of anything we wished 
for but could not afford. “However,” she continued in 
a louder and more cheerful tone, “it would give me a 
great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had them ; 
so I think I’ll only take one. But which must it be, my 
dear?” 

And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, 
while I pulled out a quiet sage-green, that had faded into 
insignificance under the more brilliant colors, but which 
was nevertheless a good silk in its humble way. Our 
attention was called off to our neighbor. He had chosen 
a shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face 
looked broadly happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, 
of the pleasant surprise he should give to some Molly or 
Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern purse out of his 
breeches pocket, and offered a five-pound note in payment 
for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been 
brought round to him from the grocery counter; and it 
was just at this point that he attracted our notice. The 
shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, doubt- 
ful air. 

“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I 
believe we have received a warning against notes issued by 
this bank only this morning. I will just step and ask 
Mr. Johnson, sir; but I am afraid I must trouble you for 
payment in cash, or in a note of a different bank.” 

I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into 


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dismay and bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see 
the rapid change. 

“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, 
as if to try which was the harder, “the chap talks as if 
notes and gold were to be had for the picking up.” 

Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest 
for the man. I don’t think she had caught the name of 
the bank, and in my nervous cowardice I was anxious that 
she should not ; and so I began admiring the yellow-spotted 
lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only a 
minute before. But it was of no use. 

“What bank was it? I mean what bank did your note 
belong to?” 

“Town and County Bank.” 

“Let me see it,” said she, quietly, to the shopman, gently 
taking it out of his hand, as he brought it back to return 
it to the farmer. 

Mr. Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he 
had received, the notes issued by that bank were little bet- 
ter than waste paper. 

“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me, in a 
low voice. “That is our bank, is it not — the Town and 
County Bank?” 

“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will just match the rib- 
bons in your new cap, I believe,” I continued, holding up 
the folds so as to catch the light, and wishing that the man 
would make haste and be gone, and yet having a new 
wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise 
or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this ex- 
pensive purchase, if the affairs of the bank were really so 
bad as the refusal of the note implied. 


222 


CRANFORD 


But Miss Matty put on the soft, dignified manner 
peculiar to her, rarely used, and yet which became her so 
well, and, laying her hand gently on mine, she said : 

“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don’t 
understand you, sir,” turning now to the shopman, who 
had been attending to the farmer. “Is this a forged note?” 

“Oh no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind ; but you 
see, ma’am, it is a Joint Stock Bank, and there are reports 
out that it is likely to break. Mr. Johnson is only doing 
his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr. Dobson knows.” 

But Mr. Dobson could not respond to the appealing 
bow by any answering smile. He was turning the note 
absently over in his fingers, looking gloomily enough at 
the parcel containing the lately chosen shawl. 

“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns every 
farthing with the sweat of his brow. However, there’s 
no help for it. You must take back your shawl, my man; 
Lizzie must do on with her cloak for a while. And yon 
figs for the little ones — I promised them to ’em — I’ll take 
them ; but the ’bacco and the other things — ” 

“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good 
man,” said Miss Matty. “I think there is some great 
mistake about it, for I am one of the shareholders, and I’m 
sure they would have told me if things had not been going 
on right.” 

The shopman whispered a word or two across the table 
to Miss Matty. She looked at him with a dubious air. 

“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend to under- 
stand business; I only know that if it is going to fail, and 
if honest people are to lose their^ money because they 
have taken our notes — I can’t explain myself,” said she, 


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223 


suddenly becoming aware that she had got into a long sen- 
tence with four people for audience — “only I would rather 
exchange my gold for the note, if you please,” turning to 
the farmer, “and then you can take your wife the shawl. 
It is only going without my gown a few days longer,” she 
continued, speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt, 
everything will be cleared up.” 

“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I. 

“Why! then it will only have been common honesty in 
me,, as a shareholder, to have given this good man the 
money. I am quite clear about it in my own mind ; but, 
you know, I can never speak quite as comprehensibly as 
others can ; only you must give me your note, Mr. Dobson, 
if you please, and go on with your purchases with these 
sovereigns.” 

The man looked at her with silent gratitude — too awk- 
ward to put his thanks into words ; but he hung back for a 
minute or two, fumbling with his note. 

‘Tm loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it 
is a loss ; but, you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a 
man with a family; and, as you say, ten to one, in a day 
or two, the note will be as good as gold again.” 

“No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman. 

“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss 
Matty, quietly. She pushed her sovereigns towards the 
man, who slowly laid his note down in exchange. “Thank 
you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any of 
these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater variety 
to choose from. My dear! will you come up-stairs?” 

We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious 
an interest as if the gown to be made after them had been 


224 


CRANFORD 


bought. I could not see that the little event in the shop 
below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s curiosity 
as to the make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She once or 
twice exchanged congratulations with me on our private 
and leisurely view of the bonnets and shawls ; but I was, all 
the time., not so sure that our examination was so utterly 
private, for I caught glimpses of a figure dodging behind 
the cloaks and mantles; and, by a dextrous move, I came 
face to face with Miss Pole, also in morning costume (the 
principal feature of which was her being without teeth, 
and wearing a veil to conceal the deficiency), come on the 
same errand as ourselves. But she quickly took her de- 
parture, because, as she said, she had a bad headache, and 
did not feel herself up to conversation. 

As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr. 
Johnson was awaiting us; he had been informed of the 
exchange of the 'note for gold, and with much good feel- 
ing and real kindness., but with a little want of tact, he 
wished to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon 
her the true state of the case. I could only hope that he 
had heard an exaggerated rumor, for he said that her 
shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank could 
not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss 
Matty seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not 
tell how much of this was real or assumed, with that 
self-control which seemed habitual to ladies of Miss 
Matty’s standing in Cranford,, who would have thought 
their dignity compromised by the slightest expression of 
surprise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an inferior in 
station, or in a public shop. However, we walked home 
very silently. I am ashamed to say, I believe I was rather 


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225 


vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct in taking the 
note to herself so decidedly. I had so set my heart upon 
her having a new silk gown, which she wanted sadly. In 
general she was so undecided anybody might turn her 
round ; in this case I had felt that it was no use attempting 
it, but I was not the less put out at the result. 

Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged 
to a sated curiosity about the fashions; and to a certain 
fatigue of body (which was, in fact, depression of mind) 
that indisposed us to go out again. But still we never 
spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed 
me to ask Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to 
offer sovereigns for all the notes of the Town and County 
Bank she met with. I could have bitten my tongue out 
the minute I had said it. She looked up rather sadly, 
and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into her already 
distressed mind, and for a minute or two she did not 
speak. Then she said — my own dear Miss Matty — with- 
out a shade of reproach in her voice : 

“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people 
call very strong; and it’s often hard enough work for me 
to settle what I ought to do with the case right before 
me. I was very thankful too — I was very thankful, that 
I saw my duty this morning, with the poor man standing 
by me; but it’s rather a strain upon me to keep thinking 
and thinking what I should do if such and such a thing 
happened; and, I believe, I had rather wait and see what 
really does come; and I don’t doubt I shall be helped then, 
if I don’t fidget myself, and get too anxious beforehand. 
You know, love, I’m not like Deborah. If Deborah had 


226 


CRANFORD 


lived, I’ve no doubt she would have seen after them before 
they had got themselves into this state.” 

We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though 
we tried to talk cheerfully about indifferent things. When 
we returned into the drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked 
her desk and began to look over her account books. I w T as 
so penitent for what I had said in the morning, that I did 
not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose 
that I could assist her; I rather left her alone, as, with 
puzzled brow, her eye followed her pen up and down the 
ruled page. By and by she shut the book, locked her 
desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, where I sat in 
moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into hers; 
she clasped it, but did not speak a word. At last she said, 
with forced composure in her voice, “If that bank goes 
wrong, I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine pounds 
thirteen shillings and fourpence a year; I shall only have 
thirteen pounds a year left.” I squeezed her hand hard 
and tight. I did not know what to say. Presently (it 
was too dark to see her face) I felt her fingers working 
convulsively in my grasp; and I knew she was going to 
speak again. I heard the sobs in her voice as she said, “I 
hope it’s not wrong — not wicked — but oh! I am so glad 
poor Deborah is spared this. She could not have borne 
to come down in the world — she had such a noble, lofty 
spirit.” 

This was all she said about the sister who had insisted 
upon investing their little property in that unlucky bank. 
We were later in lighting the candle than usual that night, 
and until that light shamed us into speaking, we sat to- 
gether very silently and sadly. 


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227 


However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of 
forced cheerfulness (which soon became real as far as it 
went), talking of that never-ending wonder, Lad)' Glen- 
mire’s engagement. Miss Matty was almost coming round 
to think it a good thing. 

“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a 
house. I don’t judge from my own experience, for my 
father was neatness itself, and wiped his shoes on coming 
in as carefully as any woman ; but still a man has a sort 
of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties; that 
it is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. 
Now, Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed about, and 
wondering where she is to settle, will be certain of a 
home among pleasant and kind people, such as our good 

Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester. And Mr. Hoggins is 

really a very personable man ; and as for his manners — 
why, if they are not very polished, I have known people 
with very good hearts, and very clever minds too, who 

Were not what some people reckoned refined, but who 

were both true and tender.” 

She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr. Holbrook, and 
I did not interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a plan I 
had had in my mind for some days, but which this threat- 
ened failure of the bank had brought to a crisis. That 
night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I treacherously 
lighted the candle again, and sat down in the drawing- 
room to compose a letter to the Aga Jenkyns — a letter 
which should affect him, if he were Peter, and yet seem 
a mere statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. The 
church clock pealed out two before I had done. 

The next morning news came, both official and other- 


223 


CRANFORD 


wise, that the Town and County Bank had stopped pay- 
ment. Miss Matty was ruined. 

She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came 
to the actual fact that she would have but about five 
shillings a week to live upon, she could not restrain a few 
tears. 

“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, wiping 
them away; “I believe I am crying for the very silly 
thought of how my mother would grieve if she could kno\y 
— she always cared for us so much more than for herself. 
But many a poor person has less; and I am not very ex- 
travagant; and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, and 
Martha’s wages, and the rent are paid, I have not a 
farthing owing. Poor Martha! I think she’ll be sorry to 
leave me.” 

Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she 
would fain have had me see only the smile, not the tears. 


CHAPTER XIV 


FRIENDS IN NEED 

It was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to 
many others, to see how immediately Miss Matty set 
about the retrenchment which she knew to be right under 
her altered circumstances. While she went down to speak 
to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole out 
with my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the Sig- 
nor’s lodgings to obtain the exact address. I bound the 
Signora to secrecy; and indeed her military manners had 
a degree of shortness and reserve in them, which made her 
always say as little as possible, except when under the 
pressure of strong excitement. Moreover — (which made 
my secret doubly sure) — the signor was now so far recov- 
ered as to be looking forward to travelling and conjuring 
again in the space of a few days, w T hen he, his wife, and 
little Phoebe, would leave Cranford. Indeed, I found 
him looking over a great black and red placard, in which 
the Signor Brunoni’s accomplishments were set forth, and 
to which only the name of the town where he would next 
display them was wanting. He and his wife were so 
much absorbed in deciding where the red letters would 
come in with most effect (it might have been the Rubric 1 
for that matter), that it was some time before I could get 

iThe body of rules for religious worship in the Roman church. It is printed 
in red. 

229 


-230 


CRANFORD 


my_ question asked privately, and not before I had given 
several decisions, the wisdom of which I questioned after- 
ward with equal sincerity as soon as the signor threw in his 
doubts and reasons on the important subject. At last I 
got. the address* spelled by sound; and very queer it 
looked ! I dropped it in the post on my way home ; and 
then for a minute I stood looking at the wooden pane, 
with a gaping slit, which divided me from the letter, but a 
moment ago in my hand. It was gone from me like life — 
never to be recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, 
and stained with sea-waves perhaps ; and be carried among 
palm trees, and scented with all tropical fragrance; the 
little piece of paper, but an hour ago so familiar and com- 
monplace, had set out on its race to the strange wild coun- 
tries beyond the Ganges! But I could not afford to lose 
much time on this speculation. I hastened home, that 
Miss Matty might not miss me. Martha opened the door 
to me, her face swollen with crying. As soon as she saw 
me, she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my arm she 
pulled me in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me 
if indeed it was all true that Miss Matty had been saying. 

“I’ll never leave her! No! I won’t. I telled her so, 
and said I could not think how she could find in her heart 
to give me warning. I could not have had the face to do 
it, if I’d been her. I might ha’ been just as good-for- 
nothing as Mrs. Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who struck for wages 
after living seven years and a half in one place. I said 
l was not one to go and serve Mammon at that rate; that 
I knew when I’d got a good missus, if she didn’t know 
when she’d got a good servant — ” 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


231 


“But Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped her 
eyes. 

“Don’t ‘but Martha’ me,” she replied to my deprecatory 
tone. 

“Listen to reason — ” 

“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now in full posses- 
sion of her voice, which had been rather choked with sob- 
bing. “Reason always means what some one else has got 
to say. Now I think what I’ve got to say is good enough 
reason. But, reason or not, I’ll say it, and I’ll stick to it. 
I’ve money in the Savings Bank, and I’ve a good stock of 
clothes, and I’m not going to leave Miss Matty. No! not 
if she gives me warning every hour in the day!” 

She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied 
me; and, indeed, I could hardly tell how to begin to 
remonstrate with her, so much did I feel that Miss Matty, 
in her increasing infirmity, needed the attendance of this 
kind and faithful woman. 

“Well!” said I, at last. 

“I’m thankful you begin with ‘well!’ If you’d ha’ 
begun with ‘but,’ as you did afore, I’d not ha’ listened 
to you. Now you may go on.” 

“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty,, 
Martha—” 

“I telled her so. A loss she’d never cease to be sorry 
for,” broke in Martha triumphantly. 

“Still she will have so little — so very little, to live 
upon, that I don’t see just now how she could find you 
food — she will even be pressed for her own. I tell you 
this, Martha, because I feel you are like a friend to dear 


232 


CRANFORD 


Miss Matty — but you know she might not like to have it 
spoken about.” 

Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject 
than Miss Matty had presented to her; for Martha just 
sat down on the first chair that came to her hand, and 
cried out loud — (we had been standing in the kitchen). 

At last she put her apron down, and looking me earn- 
estly in the face, asked, “Was that the reason Miss Matty 
wouldn’t order a pudding to-day? She said she had no 
great fancy for sweet things, and you and she would just 
have a mutton chop. But I’ll be up to her. Never you 
tell, but I’ll make her a pudding, and a pudding she’ll 
like, too, and I’ll pay for it myself; so mind you see she 
eats it. Many a one has been comforted in their sorrow 
by seeing a good dish come upon the table.” 

I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the 
immediate and practical direction of pudding-making, for 
it staved off the quarrelsome discussion as to whether she 
should or should not leave Miss Matty’s service. She 
began to tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare her- 
self for going to the shop for the butter, eggs, and what 
else she might require; she would not use a scrap of the 
articles already in the house for her cookery, but went to 
an old teapot in which her private store of money was 
deposited, and took out what she wanted. 

I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; 
but by-and-by she tried to smile for my sake. It was 
settled that I was to write to my father, and ask him to 
come over and hold a consultation ; and as soon as this 
letter was dispatched, we began to talk over future plans. 
Miss Matty’s idea was to take a single room,, and retain 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


233 


as much of her furniture as would be necessary to fit up 
this, and sell the rest ; and there to quietly exist upon what 
would remain after paying the rent. For my part, I was 
more ambitious and less contented. I thought of all the 
things by which a woman, past middle age, and with the 
education common to ladies fifty years ago, could earn or 
add to a living, without materially losing caste; but at 
length I put even this last clause on one side, and won- 
dered what in the world Miss Matty could do. 

Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested 
itself. If Miss Matty could teach children anything, it 
would throw her among the little elves in whom her soul 
delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once upon 
a time I had heard her say she could play, “A h ! vous 
dirai-je , mamanf * 1 on the piano; but that was long, long 
ago; that faint shadow of musical acquirement had died 
out years before. She had also once been able to trace 
out patterns very nicely for muslin embroidery, by dint 
of placing a piece of silver-paper over the design to be 
copied, and holding both against the window-pane, while 
she marked the scallop and eyelet-holes. But that was 
her nearest approach to the accomplishment of drawing, 
and I did not think it would go very far. Then again as 
to the branches of a solid English education — fancy work 
and the use of the globes 2 — such as the mistress of the 
Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the tradespeople in Cran- 
ford sent their daughters, professed to teach; Miss Matty’s 
eyes were failing her, and I doubted if she could discover 
the number of threads in a worsted-work pattern, or 

'"Ah! Shall I tell you, mamma?” 

2 Formerly astronomy and geography were taught by means of globes 


234 


CRANFORD 


rightly appreciate the different shades required for Queen 
Adelaide’s face, in the loyal woolwork now fashionable 
in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, 1 had never 
been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a 
good judge of Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in 
this branch of education ; but it struck me that equators 
and tropics, and such mystical circles, were very imaginary 
lines indeed to her, and that she looked upon the signs 
of the Zodiac as so many remnants of the Black Art. 

What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she 
excelled, was making candle-lighters, or “spills” (as she 
preferred calling them), of colored paper, cut so as to 
resemble feathers, and knitting garters in a variety of 
dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving a present 
of an elaborate pair,, that I should feel quite tempted to 
drop one of them in the street, in order to have it admired ; 
but I found this little joke (and it was a very little one) 
was such a distress to her sense of propriety, and was 
taken with such anxious, earnest alarm, lest the tempta- 
tion might some day prove too strong for me, that I quite 
regretted having ventured upon it. A present of these 
delicately wrought garters, a bunch of gay “spills,” or a 
set of cards on which sewing-silk was wound in a mystical 
manner, were the well-known tokens of Miss Matty’s 
favor. But would any one pay to have their children 
taught these arts? or, indeed, would Miss Matty sell, for 
filthy lucre, the knack and the skill with which she made 
trifles of value to those who loved her? 

1 had come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; 
and, in reading the chapter every morning, she always 
coughed before coming to long words. I doubted her 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


235 


power of getting through a genealogical chapter, with any 
number of coughs. Writing she did well and delicately; 
but spelling! She seemed to think that the more out-of- 
the-way this was, and the more trouble it cost her, the 
greater the compliment she paid to her correspondent; 
and words that she would spell quite correctly in her let- 
ters to me, became perfect enigmas when she wrote to 
my father. 

No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising 
generation of Cranford ; unless they had been quick learn- 
ers and ready imitators of her patience, her humility, her 
sweetness, her quiet contentment with all that she could 
not do. I pondered and pondered until dinner was 
announced by Martha, with a face all blubbered and 
swollen with crying. 

Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities, which Martha 
was apt to regard as whims below her attention, and 
appeared to consider as childish fancies, of which an old 
lady of fifty-eight should try and cure herself. But to-day 
everything was attended to with the most careful regard. 
The bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of excellence 
that existed in Miss Matty’s mind as being the way 
which her mother had preferred ; the curtain was drawn 
so as to exclude the dead-brick wall of a neighbor’s stables, 
and yet left so as to show every tender leaf of the poplar 
which was bursting into spring beauty. Martha’s tone to 
Miss Matty was just such as that good, rough-spoken 
servant usually kept sacred for little children, and which 
I had never heard her use to any grown-up person. 

I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, 
.and I was afraid she might not do justice to it; for she 


236 


CRANFORD 


had evidently very little appetite this day; so I seized the 
opportunity of letting her into the secret while Martha 
took away the meat. Miss Matty’s eyes filled with tears, 
and she could not speak, either to express ^surprise or 
delight, when Martha returned, bearing it aloft, made in 
the most wonderful representation of a lion couchant that 
ever was moulded. Martha’s face gleamed with triumph, 
as she set it down before Miss Matty with an exultant 
“There!” Miss Matty wanted to speak her thanks, but 
could not; so she took Martha’s hand and shook it warmly, 
which set Martha off crying, and I myself could hardly 
keep up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the 
room; and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or 
twice before she could speak. At last she said, “I should 
like to keep this pudding under a glass shade, my dear!” 
and the notion of the lion couchant with his currant eyes, 
being hoisted up to the place of honor on a mantel-piece, 
tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which 
rather surprised Miss Matty. 

“I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass 
shade before now,” said she. 

So had I, many a time and oft ; and I accordingly com- 
posed my countenance (and now I could hardly keep from 
crying), and we both fell to upon the pudding, which was 
indeed excellent — only every morsel seemed to choke us, 
our hearts were so full. 

We had too much to think about to talk much that 
afternoon. It passed over very tranquilly. But when the 
tea-urn was brought in, a new thought came into my head. 
Why should not Miss Matty sell tea — be an agent to the 
East India Tea Company which then existed? I could 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


237 


see no objections to this plan, while the advantages were 
many — always supposing that Miss Matty could get over 
the degradation of condescending to anything like trade. 
Tea was neither greasy nor sticky — grease and stickiness 
being two of the qualities which Miss Matty could not 
endure. No shop window would be required. A small 
genteel notification of her being licensed to sell tea would, 
it is true, be necessary; but I hoped that it could be 
placed where no one could see it. Neither was tea a heavy 
article, so as to tax Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The 
only thing against my plan was the buying and selling 
involved. 

While I w r as giving but absent answers to the questions 
Miss Matty was putting almost as absently, we heard a 
clumping sound on the stairs, and a whispering outside the 
door, which indeed once opened and shut as if by some 
invisible agency. After a little while, Martha came in, 
dragging after her a great tall young man, all crimson 
w r ith shyness, and finding his only relief in perpetually 
sleeking down his hair. 

“Please, ma’am, he’s only Jim Hearn,” said Martha, 
by way of an introduction ; and so out of breath was she, 
that I imagine she had some bodily struggle before she 
could overcome his reluctance to be presented on the 
courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s drawing-room. 

“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off hand. 
And please, ma’am, we want to take a lodger— -just one 
quiet lodger, to make our two ends meet; and w~e’d take 
any house conformable; and oh, dear Miss Matty, if I 
may be so bold, would you have any objections to lodging 
with us? Jim wants it as much as I do.” (To Jim:) 


238 


CRANFORD 


‘‘You great oaf! why can’t you back me? But he does 
want it, all the same, very bad — don’t you, Jim? — only, 
you see, he’s dazed at being called on to speak before 
quality.” 

“It’s not that,” broke in Jim. “It’s that you’ve taken 
me all on a sudden, and I didn’t think for to get married 
so soon — and such quick work does flabbergast a man. 
It’s not that I’m against it, ma’am” (addressing Miss 
Matty), only Martha has such quick ways with her, when 
once she takes a thing into her head ; and marriage, 
ma’am — marriage nails a man, as one may say. I dare 
say I sha’n’t mind it after it’s once over.” 

“Please, ma’am,” said Martha — who had plucked at his 
sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and otherwise 
tried to interrupt him all the time he had been speaking — 
“don’t mind him; he’ll come to; ’t was only last night 
he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, and all the more 
because I said I could not think of it for years to come, 
and now he’s only taken aback with the suddenness of the 
joy! but you know, Jim, you are just as full as me about 
wanting a lodger.” (Another great nudge.) 

“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us — otherwise 
I’ve no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the 
house,” said Jim, with a want of tact which I could see 
enraged Martha, who w T as trying to represent a lodger as 
the great object they wished to obtain, and that, in fact, 
Miss Matty would be smoothing their path and conferring 
a favor if she would only come and live with them. 

Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair ; their, 
or rather Martha’s sudden resolution in favor of matri- 
mony staggered her, and stood between her and the con- 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


239 


templation of the plan which Martha had at heart. Miss 
Matty began : 

“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.” 

“It is indeed, ma’am,’ quoth Jim. “Not that I’ve no 
objections to Martha.” 

“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when 
I would be married,” said Martha, her face all afire, and 
ready to cry with vexation., “and now you’re shaming me 
before my missus and all.” 

“Nay, now! Martha, don’t ee! don’t ee! only a man 
likes to have breathing-time,” said Jim, trying to possess 
himself of her hand, but in vain. Then, seeing that she 
was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, he seemed 
to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with more 
straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I should 
have thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to 
Miss Matty, and said, “I hope, ma’am, you know that I 
am bound to respect every one who has been kind to 
Martha. I always looked on her as to be my wife — some 
time; and she has often and often spoken of you as the 
kindest lady that ever was; and though the plain truth 
is I would not like to be troubled with lodgers of the 
common run, yet if, ma’am, you’d honor us by living with 
us,, I’m sure Martha would do her best to make you 
comfortable; and I’d keep out of your way as much as I 
could, which I reckon would be the best kindness such an 
awkward chap as me could do.” 

Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her 
spectacles, wiping them, and replacing them ; but all she 
could say was, “Don’t let any thought of me hurry you 


240 


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into marriage; pray don’t! Marriage is such a very 
solemn thing!” 

“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,” 
said I, struck with the advantages that it offered, and 
unwilling to lose the opportunity of considering about it. 
“And I’m sure neither she nor I can ever forget your 
kindness; nor yours either, Jim.” 

“Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean kindly, though 
I’m a bit fluttered by being pushed straight ahead into 
matrimony, as it were, and mayn’t express myself con- 
formable. But I’m sure I’m willing enough, and give 
me time to get accustomed ; so, Martha, wench, what’s the 
use of crying so, and slapping me if I come near?” 

This last was sotto voce , and had the effect of making 
Martha bounce out of the room, to be followed and 
soothed by her lover. Whereupon Miss Matty sat down 
and cried very heartily, and accounted for it by saying that 
the thought of Martha being married so soon gave her 
quite a shock, and that she should never forgive herself if 
she thought she was hurrying the poor creature. I think 
my pity was more for Jim, of the two; but both Miss 
Matty and I appreciated to the full the kindness of the 
honest couple, although we said little about this., and a 
good deal about the chances and dangers of matrimony. 

The next morning, very early, I received a note from 
Miss Pole, so mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many 
seals on it to secure secrecy, that I had to tear the paper 
before I could unfold it. And when I came to the writ- 
ing, I could hardly understand the meaning, it was so 
involved and oracular. I made out, however, that I was 
to go to Miss Pole’s at eleven o’clock; the number eleven 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


241 


being written in full length as well as in numerals, and 
A. M. twice dashed under, as if I were very likely to come 
at eleven at night, when all Cranford was usually abed 
and asleep by ten. There was no signature, except Miss 
Pole’s initials, reversed, P. E. ; but as Martha had given 
me the note,, “with Miss Pole’s kind regards,” it needed 
no wizard to find out who sent it, and if the writer’s name 
was to be kept secret, it was very well that I was alone 
when Martha delivered it. 

I went, as requested, to Miss Pole’s. The door was 
opened to me by her little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as 
if some grand event was impending over this work-day. 
And the drawing-room up-stairs was arranged in accord- 
ance with this idea. The table was set out with the best 
green card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. On the 
little chiffonier was a tray, with a newly-decanted bottle 
of cowslip wine, and some ladies’-finger biscuits. Miss 
Pole herself was in solemn array, as if to receive visitors, 
although it was only eleven o’clock. Mrs. Forrester was 
there, crying quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed 
only to call forth fresh tears. Before we had finished our 
greetings, performed with lugubrious mystery of demeanor, 
there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs. Fitz-Adam ap- 
peared, crimson with walking and excitement. It seemed 
as if this was all the company expected; for now Miss 
Pole made several demonstrations of being about to open 
the business of the meeting, by stirring the fire, opening 
and shutting the door, and coughing and blowing her nose. 
Then she arranged us all around the table, taking care to 
place me opposite to her ; and last of all, she inquired of 


242 


CRANFORD 


me if the sad report was true, as she feared it was, that 
Miss Matty had lost all her fortune? 

Of course I had but one answer to make; and I never 
saw more unaffected sorrow depicted on any countenances, 
than I did there on the three before me. 

“I wish Mrs. Jamieson was here!” said Mrs. Forrester 
at last; but, to judge from Mrs. Fitz-Adam’s face, she 
could not second the wish. 

“But without Mrs. Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with just 
a sound of offended merit in her voice, “we, the ladies of 
Cranford, in my drawing-room assembled, can resolve 
upon something. I imagine we are none of us what may be 
called rich, though we all possess a genteel competency, 
sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and would 
not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.” (Here I 
observed Miss Pole refer to a small card concealed in her 
hand, on which I imagine she had put down a few notes.) 

“Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me (familiarly 
known as “Mary” to all the company assembled, but this 
was a state occasion), “I have conversed in private — I 
made it my business to do so yesterday afternoon — with 
these ladies on the misfortune which has happened to our 
friend — and one and all of us have agreed that, while we 
have a superfluity, it is not only a duty, but a pleasure — • 
a true pleasure, Mary!” — her voice was rather choked just 
here, and she had to wipe her spectacles before she could 
go on — “to give what we can to assist her — Miss Matilda 
Jenkyns. Only, in consideration of the feelings of delicate 
independence existing in the mind of every refined female” 
— I was sure she had got back to the card now — “we wish 
to contribute our mites in a secret and concealed manner, 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


243 


so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. And our 
object in requesting you to meet us this morning is, that 
believing you are the daughter — that your father is, in 
fact, her confidential adviser in all pecuniary matters, we 
imagined that, by consulting with him, you might devise 
some mode in which our contributions could be made to 
appear the legal due which Miss Matilda Jenkyns ought 

to receive from . Probably your father, knowing her 

investments, can fill up the blank.” 

M iss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for 
approval and agreement. 

“I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? 
And while Miss Smith considers what reply to make, allow 
me to offer you some little refreshment.” 

I had no great reply to make; I had more thankfulness 
at my heart for their kind thoughts than I cared to put 
into words ; and so I only mumbled out something to the 
effect “that I would name what Miss Pole had said to my 
father, and that if anything could be arranged for dear 
Miss Matty — ” and here I broke down utterly, and had 
to be refreshed with a glass of cowslip wine before I could 
check the crying which had been repressed for the last two 
or three days. The worst was, all the ladies cried in con- 
cert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had said a hundred times 
that to betray emotion before any one was a sign of weak- 
ness and want of self-control. She recovered herself into 
a slight degree of impatient anger,, directed against me as 
having set them all off; and, moreover, I think she was 
vexed that I could not make a speech back in return for 
hers; and if I had known beforehand what was to be said, 
and had had a card on which to express the probable feel- 


244 


CRANFORD 


ings that would rise in my heart, I would have tried to 
gratify her. As it was, Mrs. Forrester was the person to 
speak when we had recovered our composure. 

“I don’t mind, among friends, stating that I — no! I’m 
not poor exactly, but I don’t think I’m what you may call 
rich ; I wish I were, for dear Miss Matty’s sake — but, if 
you please, I’ll write down, in a sealed paper, what I can 
give. I only wish it was more, my dear Mary, I do 
indeed.” 

Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. 
Every lady wrote down the sum she could give annually, 
signed the paper, and sealed it mysteriously. If their pro- 
posal was acceded to, my father was to be allowed to open 
the papers under pledge ©f secrecy. If not, they were to 
be returned to their writers. 

When this ceremony had been gone through, I rose to 
depart; but each lady seemed to wish to have a private 
conference with me. Miss Pole kept me in the drawing- 
room to explain why, in Mrs. Jamieson’s absence,, she had 
taken the lead in this “movement,” as she was pleased to 
call it, and also to inform me that she had heard from good 
sources that Mrs. Jamieson was coming home directly in 
a state of high displeasure against her sister-in-law, who 
was forthwith to leave her house; and was, she believed, 
to return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. Of course, 
this piece of intelligence could not be communicated before 
Mrs. Fitz-Adam, more especially as Miss Pole was in- 
clined to think that Lady Glenmire’s engagement to Mr. 
Hoggins could not possibly hold against the blaze of Mrs. 
Jamieson’s displeasure. A few hearty inquiries after Miss 
Matty’s health concluded my interview with Miss Pole. 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


245 


On coming down-stairs, I found Mrs. Forrester waiting 
for me at the entrance to the dining-parlor. She drew me 
in, and when the door was shut, she tried two or three 
times to begin on some subject, which was so unapproach- 
able apparently, that I began to despair of our ever getting 
to a clear understanding. At last out it came; the poor 
old lady trembling all the time as if it were a great crime 
which she was exposing to daylight in telling me how 
very, very little she had to live upon; a confession which 
she was brought to make from a dread lest we should 
think that the small contribution named in her paper bore 
any proportion to her love and regard for Miss Matty. 
And yet that sum which she so eagerly relinquished was, 
in truth, more than a twentieth part of what she had to 
live upon, and keep house, and a little serving-maid, all 
as became one born a Tyrrell. And when the whole 
income does not nearly amount to a hundred pounds, to 
give up a twentieth part of it will necessitate many careful 
economies, and many pieces of self-denial — small and in- 
significant, in the world’s account, but bearing a different 
value in another account-book that I have heard of. She 
did so wish she was rich, she said ; and this wish she kept 
repeating, with no thought of herself in it, only with a 
longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss Matty’s 
measure of comforts. 

It was some time before I could console her enough to 
leave her ; and then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid 
by Mrs. Fitz-Adam, who had also her confidence to make, 
of pretty nearly the opposite description. She had not liked 
to put down all that she could afford and was ready to 
give. She told me she thought she never could look Miss 


246 


CRANFORD 


Matty in the face again if she presumed to be giving her 
so much as she should like to do. “Miss Matty,” con- 
tinued she, “that I thought was such a fine young lady, 
when I was nothing but a country girl, coming to market 
with eggs and butter, and such like things. For my father, 
though well to do, would always make me go on as my 
mother had done before me; and I had to come in to 
Cranford every Saturday and see after sales and prices, 
and what not. And one da)^ I remember, I met Miss 
Matty in the lane that leads to Combehurst ; she was walk- 
ing on the footpath, which, you know, is raised a good 
way above the road, and a gentleman rode beside her, and 
w r as talking to her, and she was looking down at some 
primroses she had gathered, and pulling them all to pieces, 
and I do believe she was crying. But after she had passed, 
she turned round and ran after me to ask — oh ! so kindly — 
after my poor mother, who lay on her deathbed ; and when 
I cried, she took hold of my hand to comfort me ; and the 
gentleman waiting for her all the time ; and the poor heart 
very full of something, I am sure; and I thought it such 
an honor to be spoken to in that pretty way by the rector’s 
daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have loved her 
ever since, though, perhaps, I’d no right to do it; but if 
you can think of any way in which I might be allowed 
to give a little more without any one knowing it, I should 
be so much obliged to you, my dear. And my brother 
would be delighted to doctor her for nothing — medicines, 
leeches,, and all. I know that he and her ladyship — (my 
dear! I little thought in the days I was telling you of 
that I should ever come to be sister-in-law to a ladyship!) 
— would do anything for her. We all would.” 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


247 


I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts 
of things, in my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, wha 
might well be wondering what had become of me — absent 
from her two hours without being able to account for it. 
She had taken very little note of time, however, as she 
had been occupied in numberless little arrangements prepa- 
ratory to the great step of giving up her house. It was 
evidently a relief to her to be doing something in the way 
of retrenchment; for, as she said, whenever she paused to 
think, the recollection of the poor fellow with his bad five- 
pound note came over her, and she felt quite dishonest; 
only if it made her so uncomfortable, what must it not be 
doing to the directors of the bank, who must know so 
much more of the misery consequent upon this failure? 
She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy be- 
tween these directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed 
by self-reproach for the mismanagement of other people’s 
affairs) and those who were suffering like her. Indeed, of 
the two, she seemed to think poverty a lighter burden than 
self-reproach ; but I privately doubted if the directors 
would agree with her. 

Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their 
money value, which luckily was small, or else I don’t 
know how Miss Matty would have prevailed upon herself 
to part with such things as her mother’s wedding-ring, the 
strange, uncouth brooch, with which her father had dis- 
figured his shirt-frill, etc. However, we arranged things 
a little in order as to their pecuniary estimation, and were 
all ready for my father when he came the next morning. 

I am not going to weary you with the details of all the 
business we went through ; and one reason for not telling 


248 


CRANFORD 


about them is, that I did not understand what we were 
doing at the time; and cannot recollect it now. Miss 
Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and schemes, and 
reports, and documents, of which I do not believe we either 
of us understood a word ; for my father was clear-headed 
and decisive, and a capital man of business, and if we made 
the slightest inquiry, or expressed the slightest want of 
comprehension, he had a sharp way of saying, “Eh? eh? 
it’s as clear as daylight. What’s your objection?” And 
as we had not comprehended anything of what he had 
proposed, we found it rather difficult to shape our objec- 
tions; in fact we never were sure if we had any. So 
presently Miss Matty got into a nervously acquiescent 
state, and said, “Yes,” and “Certainly,” at every pause, 
whether required or not; but when I once joined in as 
chorus to a “Decidedly,” pronounced by Miss Matty in a 
tremblingly dubious tone,, my father fired round at me, 
and asked me “What there was to decide?” And I am 
sure, to this day, I have never known. But, in justice to 
him, I must say, he had come over from Drumble to help 
Miss Matty when he could ill spare the time, and when 
his own affairs were in a very anxious state. 

While Miss Matty was out of the room, giving orders 
for luncheon — and sadly perplexed between her desire of 
honoring my father by a delicate, dainty meal, and her con- 
viction that she had no right, now that all her money was 
gone, to indulge this desire — I told him of the meeting of 
the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole’s the day before. He 
kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke; and 
when I went back to Martha’s offer the evening before, of 
receiving Miss Matty as a lodger, he fairly walked away 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


249 


from me to the window, and began drumming with his 
fingers upon it. Then he turned abruptly round, and 
said, “See, Mary, how a good innocent life makes friends 
all around. Confound it! I could make a good lesson 
out of it if I were a parson ; but as it is, I can’t get a tail 
to my sentences — only I’m sure you feel what I want to 
say. You and I will have a walk after lunch, and talk a 
bit more about these plans.” 

The lunch — a hot, savory mutton chop, and a little 
of the cold lion sliced and fried — was now brought in. 
Every morsel of this last dish was finished, to Martha’s 
great gratification. Then my father bluntly told Miss 
Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he would 
stroll out and see some of the old places, and then I could 
tell her what plan we thought desirable. Just before we 
went out, she called me back and said, “Remember, dear, 
I’m the only one left — I mean there’s no one to be hurt by 
what I do. I’m willing to do anything that’s right and 
honest; and I don’t think, if Deborah knows where she 
is, she’ll care so very much if I’m not genteel ; because, you 
see, she’ll know all, dear. Only let me see what I can 
do, and pay the poor people as far as I’m able.” 

I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The 
result of our conversation was this. If all parties were 
agreeable, Martha and Jim were to be married with as 
little delay as possible, and they were to live on in Miss 
Matty’s present abode ; the sum which the Cranford ladies 
had agreed to contribute annually being sufficient to meet 
the greater part of the rent, and leaving Martha free to 
appropriate what Miss Matty should pay for her lodgings 
to any little extra comforts required. About the sale, my 


250 


CRANFORD 


father was dubious at first. He said the old Rectory fur- 
niture, lyowever carefully used, and reverently treated, 
would fetch very little; and that little would be but as a 
drop in the sea of the debts of the Town and County 
Bank. But when I represented how Miss Matty’s tender 
conscience would be soothed by feeling that she had done 
what she could, he gave way; especially after I had told 
him the five-pound-note adventure, and he had scolded me 
well, for allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she 
might add to her small income by selling tea; and, to my 
surprise (for I had nearly given up the plan), my father 
grasped at it with all the energy of a tradesman. I think 
he reckoned his chickens before they were hatched, for he 
immediately ran up the profits of the sales that she could 
effect in Cranford to more than twenty pounds a year. 
The small dining-parlor was to be converted into a shop, 
without any of its degrading characteristics; a table was 
to be the counter; one window was to be retained unal- 
tered, and the other changed into a glass door. I evidently 
rose in his estimation for having made this bright sug- 
gestion. I only hoped we should not both fall in Miss 
Matty’s. 

But she was patient and content with all our arrange- 
ments. She knew, she said, that we should do the best 
we could for her; and she only hoped, only stipulated, that 
she should pay every farthing that she could be said to owe, 
for her father’s sake, who had been so respected in Cran- 
ford. My father and I had agreed to say as little as 
possible about the bank — indeed, never to mention it again, 
if it could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a 
little perplexing to her; but she had seen me sufficiently 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


251 


snubbed in the morning for want of comprehension to Ven- 
ture on too many inquiries now; and all passed over well, 
with a hope on her part that no one would be hurried into 
marriage on her account. When we came to the proposal 
that she should sell tea,, I could see it was rather a shock 
to her; not on account of any personal loss of gentility 
involved, but only because she distrusted her own powers 
of action in a new line of life, and would timidly have 
preferred a little more privation to any exertion for 
which she feared she was unfitted. However, when she 
saw my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and said she 
would try; and if she did not do well, of course she might 
give it up. One good thing about it was, she did not think 
men ever bought tea; and it was of men particularly she 
was afraid. They had such sharp, loud ways with them; 
and did up accounts, and counted their change, so quickly ! 
Now, if she might only sell comfits to children, she was 
sure she could please them! 


CHAPTER XV 


A HAPPY RETURN 

Before I left Miss Matty at Cranford everything had 
been comfortably arranged for her. Even Mrs. Jamieson’s 
approval of her selling tea had been gained. That oracle 
had taken a few days to consider whether by so doing 
Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the privileges of 
society in Cranford. I think she had some little idea of 
mortifying Lady Glenmire by the decision she gave at last, 
which was to this effect: that whereas a married woman 
takes her husband’s rank by the strict laws of precedence, 
an unmarried woman retains the station her father occu- 
pied. So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, 
whether allowed or not, it intended to visit Lady Glen- 
mire. 

But what was our surprise — our dismay — when we 
learned that Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins were returning on 
the following Tuesday. Mrs. Hoggins! Had she abso- 
lutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of bravado, cut 
the aristocracy to become a Hoggins? She,, who might 
have been called Lady Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs. 
Jamieson was pleased. She said it only convinced her of 
what she had known from the first, that the creature had 
a low taste. But “the creature” looked very happy on 
Sunday at Church ; nor did we see it necessary to keep our 


252 


A HAPPY RETURN 


253 


veils down on that side of our bonnets on which Mr. and 
Mrs. Hoggins sat, as Mrs. Jamieson did; thereby missing 
all the smiling glory of his face, and all the becoming 
blushes of hers. I am not sure if Martha and Jim looked 
more radiant in the afternoon, when they too made their 
first appearance. Mrs. Jamieson soothed the turbulence 
of her soul, by having the blinds of her windows drawn 
down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr. and Mrs. 
Hoggins received callers; and it was with some difficulty 
that she was prevailed upon to continue the St. James's 
Chronicle — so indignant was she with its having inserted 
the announcement of the marriage. 

Miss Matty’s sale went off famously. She retained the 
furniture of her sitting-room and bedroom ; the former of 
which she was to occupy till Martha could meet with a 
lodger who might wish to take it; and into this sitting- 
room and bedroom she had to cram all sorts of things, 
which were (the auctioneer assured her) bought in for 
her at the sale by an unknown friend. I always suspected 
Mrs. Fitz-Adam of this; but she must have had an acces- 
sory, who knew what articles were particularly regarded by 
Miss Matty on account of their associations with her early 
days. The rest of the house looked rather bare, to be 
sure; all except one tiny bedroom, of which my father 
allowed me to purchase the furniture for my occasional use, 
in case of Miss Matty’s illness. 

I had expended my own small store in buying all man- 
ner of comfits and lozenges, in order to tempt the little 
people, whom Miss Matty loved so much, to come about 
her. Tea in bright green canisters — and comfits in tum- 
blers — Miss Matty and I felt quite proud as we looked 


254 


CRANFORD 


round us on the evening before the shop was to be 
opened. Martha had scoured the boarded floor to a white 
cleanness, and it was adorned with a brilliant piece of oil- 
cloth, on which customers were to stand before the table- 
counter. The wholesome smell of plaster and whitewash 
pervaded the apartment. A very small “Matilda Jen- 
kyns, licensed to sell tea.,” was hidden under the lintel of 
the new door, and two boxes of tea, with cabalistic inscrip- 
tions all over them, stood ready to disgorge their contents 
into the canisteis. 

Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had 
had some scruples of conscience of selling tea when there' 
was already Mr. Johnson in the town, who included it 
among his numerous commodities; and, before she could 
quite reconcile herself to the adoption of her new busi- 
ness, she had trotted down to his shop, unknowm to me, 
to tell him of the project that was entertained, and to 
inquire if it was likely to injure his business. My father 
called this idea of hers “great nonsense,” and “wondered 
how tradespeople were to get on if there was to be a 
continual consulting of each other’s interests, which would 
put a stop to all competition directly.” And perhaps it 
would not have done in Drumble, but in Cranford it 
answered very well; for not only did Mr. Johnson kindly 
put at rest Miss Matty’s scruples, and fear of injuring his 
business; but, I have reason to know, he repeatedly sent 
customers to her, saying that the teas he kept were of a 
common kind,, but that Miss Jenkyns had all the choice 
sorts. And expensive tea is a very favorite luxury with 
well-to-do tradespeople and rich farmers’ wives, who turn 
up their noses at the Congou and Souchong prevalent at 


A HAPPY RETURN 


255 


many tables of gentility, and will have nothing else than 
Gunpowder and Pekoe for themselves. 

But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleas- 
ant to see how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice 
called out the same good qualities in others. She never 
seemed to think any one would impose upon her, because 
she should be so grieved to do it to them. I have heard 
her put a stop to the asseverations of the man who brought 
her coals, by quietly saying, “I am sure you would be sorry 
to bring me wrong w r eight”; and if the coals were short 
measure that time, I don’t believe they ever were again. 
People would have felt as much ashamed of presuming on 
her good faith as they w r ould have done on that of a child. 
But my father says, “such simplicity might be very well in 
Cranford, but would never do in the world.” And I fancy 
the world must be very bad; for wdth all my father’s 
suspicion of every one with whom he has dealings, and in 
spite of all his many precautions, he lost upwards of a 
thousand pounds by roguery only last year. 

I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her 
new mode of life, and to pack up the library, which the 
rector had purchased. He had written a very kind letter 
to Miss Matty, saying “how glad he should be to take a 
library so well selected, as he knew that the late Mr. 
Jenkyns’s must have been, at any valuation put upon 
them.” And when she agreed to this, with a touch of sor- 
rowful gladness that they would go back to the Rectory, 
and be arranged on the accustomed walls once more, he 
sent word that he feared that he had not room for them 
all, and perhaps Miss Matty would kindly allow him to 
leave some volumes on her shelves. But Miss Matty said 


256 


CRANFORD 


that she had her Bible, and Johnson’s Dictionary, and 
should not have much time for reading, she was afraid. 
Still, I retained a few books out of consideration for the 
rector’s kindness. 

The money which he had paid, and that produced by the 
sale, was partly expended in the stock of tea, and part of 
it was invested against a rainy day ; i. e., old age or illness. 
It was but a small sum, it is true; and it occasioned a few 
evasions of truth and white lies (all of which I think very 
wrong indeed — in theory — and would rather not put them 
in practice), for we knew Miss Matty would be perplexed 
as to her duty if she were aware of any little reserve fund 
being made for her while the debts of the bank remained 
unpaid. Moreover,, she had never been told of the way in 
which her friends were contributing to pay the rent. I 
should have liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the 
affair gave a piquancy to their deed of kindness which 
the ladies were unwilling to give up; and at first Martha 
had to shirk many a perplexed question as to her ways and 
means of living in such a house; but by and by Miss 
Matty’s prudent uneasiness sank down into acquiescence 
with the existing arrangement. 

I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea 
during the first two days had surpassed my most sanguine 
expectations. The whole country round seemed to be all 
out of tea at once. The only alteration I could have 
desired in Miss Matty’s way of doing business was, that 
she should not have so plaintively entreated some of her 
customers not to buy green tea — running it down as slow 
poison, sure to destroy the nerves, and produce all manner 
of evil. Their pertinacity in taking it, in spite of all her 


A HAPPY RETURN 


257 


warnings, distressed her so much that I really thought 
she would relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half her 
custom; and I was driven to my wits’ end for instances 
of longevity entirely attributable to a persevering use of 
green tea. But the final argument, which settled the ques- 
tion, was a happy reference of mine to the train oil and 
tallow candles which the Esquimaux not only enjoy but 
digest. After that she acknowledged that “one man’s meat 
might be another man’s poison,” and contented herself 
thenceforward with an occasional remonstrance., when she 
thought the purchaser was too young and innocent to be 
acquainted with the evil effects green tea produced on 
some constitutions; and an habitual sigh when people old 
enough to choose more wisely would prefer it. 

I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least, to 
settle the accounts and see after the necessary business let- 
ters. And, speaking of letters, I began to be very much 
ashamed of remembering my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, 
and very glad I had never named my writing to any one. 
I only hoped the letter was lost. No answer came. No 
sign was made. 

About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received 
one of Martha’s hieroglyphics, begging me to come to 
Cranford very soon. I was afraid that Miss Matty was 
ill, and went off that very afternoon and took Martha by 
surprise when she saw me on opening the door. We went 
into the kitchen, as usual, to have our confidential con- 
ference; and then Martha told me she was expecting her 
confinement very soon — in a week or two ; and she did 
not think Miss Matty was aware of it; and she wanted me 
to break the news to her; “for indeed, miss! continued 


258 


CRANFORD 


Martha, crying hysterically, “I’m afraid she won’t approve 
of it; and I’m sure I don’t know who is to take care of 
her as she should be taken care of when I’m laid up.” 

I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till 
she was about again, and only wished she had told me her 
reason for this sudden summons, as then I w T ould have 
brought the requisite stock of clothes. But Martha was 
so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike her usual self, 
that I said as little as possible about myself, and endeavored 
rather to comfort Martha under all the probable and pos- 
sible misfortunes which came crowding upon her imagina- 
tion. 

I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appear- 
ance,, as if I were a customer, in the shop, just to take 
Miss Matty by surprise, and gain an idea of how she 
looked in her new situation. It was warm May weather, 
so only the little half-door was closed ; and Miss Matty 
sat behind her counter, knitting an elaborate pair of 
garters; elaborate they seemed to me, but the difficult stitch 
was no weight upon her mind, for she was singing in a 
low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly in and out. 
I call it singing, but I dare say a musician would not use 
that word to the tuneless yet sweet humming of the low 
worn voice. I found out from the words, far more than 
from the attempt at the tune, that it was the Old Hun- 
dredth she was crooning to herself ; but the quiet, con- 
tinuous sound told of content, and gave me a pleasant feel- 
ing as I stood in the street just outside the door, quite in 
harmony with that soft May morning. I went in. At 
first she did not catch who it was, and stood up as if to 
serve me; but in another minute watchful pussy had 


A HAPPY RETURN 


259 


t clutched her knitting, which was dropped in her eager joy 
at seeing me. I found, after we had had a little conversa- 
tion, that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had 
' no idea of the approaching household event. So I thought 
I would let things take their course, secure that when I 
went to her with the baby in my arms I should obtain that 
I forgiveness for Martha which she was needlessly frighten- 
ing herself into believing that Miss Matty would with- 
hold, under some notion that the new claimant would 
require attentions from its mother that it would be faith- 
less treason to Miss Matty to render. 

But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary 
quality, for my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One 
morning, within a week after I arrived, I went to call on 
Miss Matty, with a little bundle of flannel in my arms. 
She was very much awestruck when I showed her what 
it was, and asked for her spectacles off the dressing-table, 
and looked at it curiously, with a sort of tender wonder 
[; at its small perfection of parts. She could not banish the 
1 thought of the surprise all day, but went about on tiptoe, 
and was very silent. But she stole up to see Martha, and 
they both cried with joy; and she got into a complimentary 
I speech to Jim, and did not know how to get out of it 
i again, and was only extricated from her dilemma by the 
sound of the shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the 
shy, proud, honest Jim, who shook my hand so vigorously 
when I congratulated him, that I think I feel the pain of 
it yet. 

I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended 
on Miss Matty, and prepared her meals; I cast up her 
accounts, and examined into the state of her canisters and 


260 


CRANFORD 


tumblers. I helped her, too, occasionally, in the shop ; and 
it gave me no small amusement, and sometimes a little 
uneasiness, to watch her ways there. If a little child came} 
in to ask for an ounce of almond comfits (and four of the 
large kind which Miss Matty sold weighed that much), 
she always added one more by “way of make-weight,” as 
she called it, although the scale was handsomely turned 
before; and when I remonstrated against this, her reply 
was, “The little things like it so much!” There was no 
use in telling her that the fifth comfit weighed a quarter 
of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to her pocket. 
So I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft with 
a feather out of her own plumage. I told her how un- 
wholesome almond comfits were; and how ill excess in 
them might make the little children. This argument pro- 
duced some effect; for henceforward, instead of the fifth 
comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, 
into which she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, 
as a preventive to the dangers that might arise from the 
previous sale. Altogether, the lozenge trade, conducted 
on these principles, did not promise to be remunerative; 
but I was happy to find she had made more than twenty 
pounds during the last year by her sales of tea; and more- 
over, now that she was accustomed to it, she did not dis- \ 
like the employment, which brought her into kindly inter- 
course with many of the people round about. If she gave 
them good weight, they, in their turn, brought many a 
little country present to the “old rector’s daughter,” — a 
cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, 
a bunch of flowers. The counter was quite loaded with 
these offerings sometimes, as she told me. 


A HAPPY RETURN 


261 


As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as 
usual. The Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a 
feud it could be called, when only one side cared much 
about it. Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins were very happy to- 
gether; and, like most very happy people, quite ready to 
be friendly ; indeed, Mrs. Hoggins was really desirous to 
be restored to Mrs. Jamieson’s good graces, because of the 
former intimacy. But Mrs. Jamieson considered their 
very happiness an insult to the Glenmire family, to which 
; she had still the honor to belong, and she doggedly refused 
and rejected every advance. Mr. Mulliner, like a faithful 
clansman, espoused his mistress’s side with ardor. If he 
saw either Mr. or Mrs. Hoggins, he would cross the 
I street, and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in 
general, and his own path in particular, until he had passed 
them by. Miss Pole used to amuse herself with wondering 
what in the world Mrs. Jamieson would do, if either she 
or Mr. Mulliner, or any other member of her household, 
was taken ill; she could hardly have the face to call in 
Mr. Hoggins after the way she had behaved to them. 
Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some indisposition or 
accident to befall Mrs. Jamieson or her dependents, in 
order that Cranford might see how she would act under 
the perplexing circumstances. 

Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had 
already fixed a limit, not very far distant, to my visit, when 
one afternoon, as I was sitting in the shop parlor with 
Miss Matty — I remember the weather was colder now 
than it had been in May, three weeks before, and we had 
a fire, and kept the door fully closed — we saw a gentle- 
man go slowly past the wdndow, and then stand opposite 


262 


CRANFORD 


the door, as if looking out for the name which we had sol 
carefully hidden. He took out a double eyeglass, and 
peered about for some time before he could discover it. I 
Then he came in. And, all on a sudden, it flashed across) 
me that it was the Aga himself! For his clothes had aril 
out-of-the-way foreign cut about them., and his face wasi 
deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned by the sun. His 
complexion contrasted oddly with his plentiful snow-white 
hair; his eyes were dark and piercing, and he had an odd 
way of contracting them, and puckering up his cheeks into 
innumerable wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. | 
He did so at Miss Matty when he first came in. H is u 
glance had first caught and lingered a little upon me ; but 
then turned, with the peculiar searching look I have 
described, to Miss Matty. She was a little fluttered and 
nervous, but no more so than she always was when any 
man came into her shop. She thought that he would i 
probably have a note, or a sovereign at least, for which !| 
she would have to give change, which was an operation ? 
she very much disliked to perform. But the present cus- 
tomer stood opposite to her, without asking for anything, | 
only looking fixedly at her as he drummed upon the table j 
with his fingers, just for all the world as Miss Jenkyns ! 
used to do. Miss Matty was on the point of asking him 
what he wanted (as she told me afterward), when he 
turned sharp to me: “Is your name Marv Smith?” 

. “Yes,” said I. 

All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest ; and I 
only wondered what he would say or do next, and how 
Miss Matty would stand the joyful shock of what he had 
to reveal. Apparently he was at a loss how to announce' 


A HAPPY RETURN 


263 


himself ; for he looked round at last in search of something 
to buy, so as to gain time; and, as it happened, his eye 
caught on the almond comfits; and he boldly asked for a 
pound of “those things.” I doubt if Miss Matty had a 
whole pound in the shop; and, besides the unusual mag- 
nitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea of the 
indigestion they would produce,, taken in such unlimited 
quantities. She looked up to remonstrate. Something of 
tender relaxation in his face struck home to her heart. 
She said, “It is — oh, sir! can you be Peter?” and trembled 
from head to foot. In a moment he was round the table, 
and had her in his arms, sobbing the tearless cries of old 
age. I brought her a glass of wine ; for, indeed, her color 
had changed so as to alarm me and Mr. Peter, too. He 
kept saying, “I have been too sudden for you, Matty — I 
have, my little girl.” 

I proposed that she should go at once up into the draw- 
ing-room and lie down on the sofa there. She looked 
wistfully at her brother, whose hand she had held tight, 
even when nearly fainting; but on his assuring her that 
he would not leave her, she allowed him to carry her up- 
stairs. 

I thought that the best I could do was to run and put 
the kettle on the fire for early tea, and then to attend to 
the shop, leaving the brother and sister to exchange some 
of the many thousand things they must have to say. I had 
also to break the news to Martha, who received it with 
a burst of tears, which nearly infected me. She kept recov- 
ering herself to ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss 
Matty’s brother; for I had mentioned that he had gray 
hair, and she had always heard that he was a very hand- 


264 


CRANFORD 


some young man. Something, of the same kind perplexed 
Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was installed in the 
great easy-chair opposite to Mr. Jenkyns’s, in order to gaze 
her fill. She could hardly drink for looking at him ; and 
as for eating, that was out of the question. 

“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” said 
she almost to herself. “When you left Cranford you had 
not a gray hair in your head.” 

“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr. Peter, 
smiling. 

“Ah! true! yes! I suppose you and I are getting old. 
But still I did not think we were so very old ! But white 
hair is very becoming to you, Peter,” she continued — a 
little afraid lest she had hurt him by revealing how T his 
appearance had impressed her. 

“I suppose I forgot dates, too, Matty, for what do you 
think I have brought for you from India? I have an India 
muslin gown and a pearl necklace for you somewhere or 
other in my chest at Portsmouth.” He smiled as if amused 
at the idea of the incongruity of his presents with the 
appearance of his sister; but this did not strike her all at 
once, while the elegance of the articles did. I could see 
that for a moment her imagination dwelt complacently on 
the idea of herself thus attired ; and instinctively she put 
her hand up to her throat — that little delicate throat, 
which (as Miss Pole had told me) had been one of her 
youthful charms; but the hand met the touch of folds of 
soft muslin, in which she was always swathed up to her 
chin ; and the sensation recalled a sense of the unsuitable- 
ness of a pearl necklace to her age. She said : “I’m afraid 
I’m too old ; but it was very kind of you to think of it. 


A HAPPY RETURN 


265 


They are just what I should have liked years ago — when 
I was young!” 

“So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your 
tastes — they were so like my dear mother’s.” At the men- 
tion of that name, the brother and sister clasped each 
other’s hands yet more fondly ; and although they were per- 
fectly silent, I fancied they might have something to say 
if they were unchecked by my presence, and I got up to 
arrange my room for Mr. Peter’s occupation that night, 
intending myself to share Miss Matty’s bed. But at my 
movement he started up. “I must go and settle about a 
room at the George. My carpet-bag is there too.” 

‘‘No!” said Miss Matty, in great distress — “you must 
not go; please, dear Peter — pray Mary — oh! you must not 
go!” 

She was so much agitated that we both promised every- 
thing she wished. Peter sat down again, and gave her his 
hand, which for better security she held in both of hers, 
and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements. 

Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, 
did Miss Matty and I talk. She had much to tell me of 
her brother’s life and adventures which he had communi- 
cated to her, as they had sat alone. She said that all was 
thoroughly clear to her ; but I never quite understood the 
whole story; and when in after days I lost my awe of Mr. 
Peter enough to question him myself, he laughed at my 
curiosity, and told me stories that sounded so very much 
like Baron Munchausen’s , 1 that I was sure he was making 
fun of me. What I heard from Miss Matty was, that 

Supposed narrator of incredible tales, the author of which was R. E. Raspe. 
The tales were published in England in 1785. 


266 


CRANFORD 


he had been a volunteer at the siege of Rangoon ; had been 
taken prisoner by the Burmese; had somehow obtained 
favor and eventual freedom from knowing how to bleed 
the chief of the small tribe in some case of dangerous ill- 
ness; that, on his release from years of captivity, he had 
had his letters returned from England with the ominous 
word “Dead” marked upon them; and believing himself to 
be the last of his race, he had settled down as an indigo 
planter, and had proposed to spend the remainder of his 
life in the country to whose inhabitants and modes of life 
he had become habituated, when my letter had reached 
him ; and with the odd vehemence,, which characteried him 
in age as it had done in youth, he had sold his land and 
all his possessions to the first purchaser, and come home 
to the poor old sister, who was more glad and rich than 
any princess when she looked at him. She talked me to 
sleep at last, and then I was awakened by a slight sound 
at the door, for which she begged my pardon as she crept 
penitently into bpd; but it seems that when I could no 
longer confirm her belief that the long-lost was really here 
— under the same roof — she had begun to fear lest it was 
only a waking dream of hers ; that there never had been a 
Peter sitting by her all that blessed evening, but that the 
real Peter lay dead far away beneath some wild sea-wave, 
or under some strange Eastern tree. And so strong had 
this nervous feeling of hers become, that she was fain to 
get up, and go and convince herself that he was really 
there by listening through the door to his even, regular 
breathing — I don’t like to call it snoring, but I heard it 


A HAPPY RETURN 


267 


myself through two closed doors — and by and by it soothed 
Miss Matty to sleep. 

I don’t believe Mr. Peter came home from India as rich 
as a nabob; he even considered himself poor; but neither 
he nor Miss Matty cared much about that. At any rate, 
he had enough to live upon “very genteelly” at Cranford — 
he and Miss Matty together. And a day or two after his 
arrival the shop was closed, while troops of little urchins 
gleefully awaited the showers of comfits and lozenges that 
came from time to time down upon their faces as they 
stood up-gazing at Miss Matty’s drawing-room windows. 
Occasionally Miss Matty would say to them (half hidden 
behind the curtains) , "“My dear children, don’t make your- 
selves ill” ; but a strong arm pulled her back, and a more 
rattling shower than ever succeeded. A part of the tea 
was sent in presents to the Cranford ladies; and some of 
it was distributed among the old people who remembered 
Mr. Peter in the days of his frolicsome youth. The India 
muslin gown was reserved for darling Flora Gordon 
(Miss Jessie Brown’s daughter). The Gordons had been 
on the Continent for the last few years, but were now 
expected to return very soon ; and Miss Matty, in her 
sisterly pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of show- 
ing them Mr. Peter. The pearl necklace disappeared ; 
and about that time many handsome and useful presents 
made their appearance in the households of Miss Pole 
and Mrs. Forrester; and some rare and delicate Indian 
ornaments graced the drawing-rooms of Mrs. Jamieson 
and Mrs. Fitz-Adam. I myself was not forgotten. Among 
other things I had the handsomest bound and best edition 


268 


CRANFORD 


of Dr. Johnson’s works that could be procured ; and dear 
Miss Matty, with tears in her eyes, begged me to consider 
it as a present from her sister as well as herself. In short, 
no one was forgotten ; and,, what was more, every one, 
however insignificant, who had shown kindness to Miss 
Matty at any time, was sure of Mr. Peter’s cordial regard. 


CHAPTER XVI 
“peace to cranford” 

It was not surprising that Mr. Peter became such a 
favorite at Cranford. The ladies vied with each other 
who should admire him most; and no wonder; for their 
quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival 
from India — especially as the person arrived told more 
wonderful stories than Sindbad the Sailor ; 1 and, as Miss 
Pole said, was quite as good as an Arabian night any 
evening. For my own part, I had vibrated all my life 
between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was 
quite possible that all Mr. Peter’s stories might be true, 
although wonderful ; but when I found that if we swal- 
lowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude one week, we 
had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to 
have my doubts ; especially as I noticed that when his sister 
wa$ present the accounts of Indian life were comparatively 
tame ; not that she knew more than we did, perhaps less. 
I noticed, also, that when the rector came to call, Mr. 
Peter talked in a different way about the countries he 
had been in. But I don’t think the ladies in Cranford 
would have considered him such a wonderful traveller if 
they had only heard him talk in the quiet way he did to 

*In the Arabian Nights. 

269 


270 


CRANFORD 


him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being what 
they called “so very Oriental.” 

One day, at a select party in his honor, which Miss Pole 
gave, and from which, as Mrs. Jamieson honored it with 
her presence,, and had even offered to send Mr. Mulliner 
to wait, Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins and Mrs. Fitz-Adam 
were necessarily excluded — one day at Miss Pole’s Mr. 
Peter said he was tired of sitting upright against the hard- 
backed uneasy chairs, and asked if he might not indulge 
himself in sitting cross-legged. Miss Pole’s consent was 
eagerly given, and down he went with the utmost gravity. 
But when Miss Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, “if 
he did not remind me of the Father of the Faithful,” 1 I 
could not help thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame 
tailor; and while Mrs. Jamieson slowly commented on 
the elegance and convenience of the attitude, I remembered 
how we had all followed that lady’s lead in condemning 
Mr. Hoggins for vulgarity because he simply crossed his 
legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr. Peter’s 
ways of eating were a little strange among such ladies as 
Miss Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs. Jamieson, especially 
when I recollected the untasted green peas and two- 
pronged forks at poor Mr. Holbrook’s dinner. 

The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my 
mind a conversation between Mr. Peter and Miss Matty- 
one evening in the summer after he returned to Cranford. 
The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty had been 
much oppressed by the weather, in the heat of which her 
brother revelled. I remember that she had been unable 
to nurse Martha’s baby, which had become her favorite 


*Abraham 


“PEACE TO CRANFORD' 


271 


employment of late, and which was as much at home in 
her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained a light 
weight — portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. This 
day to which I refer, Miss Matty had seemed more than 
usually feeble and languid, and only revived when the 
sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open 
window,, through which, although it looked into the prin- 
cipal street of Cranford, the fragrant smell of neighboring 
hay-fields came in every now and then, borne by the soft 
breezes that stirred the dull air of summer twilight, and 
then died away. The silence of the sultry atmosphere w r as 
lost in the murmuring noises which came in from many an 
open window and door; even the children were abroad in 
the street, late as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoy- 
ing the game of play for which they had not had spirits 
during the heat of the day. It was a source of satisfaction 
to Miss Matty to see how few candles were lighted even 
in the apartments of those houses from which issued the 
greatest signs of life. Mr. Peter, Miss Matty and I, had 
all been quiet, each with a separate revery, for some little 
time, when Mr. Peter broke in — 

“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you 
were on the high road to matrimony when I left England 
that last time? If anybody had told me you would have 
“lived and died an old maid then, I should have laughed in 
-their faces.” 

Miss Matty made no reply; and I tried in vain to think 
of some subject which should effectually turn the conversa- 
tion ; but I was very stupid ; and before I spoke, he 
went on : 

“It was Holbrook — that fine, manly fellow, who lived 


272 


CRANFORD 


at Woodley, that I used to think would carry off my little 
Matty. You would not think it now, I dare say, Mary! 
but this sister of mine was once a very pretty girl — at least 
I thought so; and so I’ve a notion did poor Holbrook. 
What business had he to die before I came home to thank 
him for all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I 
was? It was that that made me first think he cared for 
you; for in all our fishing expeditions, it was Matty, 
Matty, we talked about. Poor Deborah! What a lecture 
she read me on having asked him home to lunch one day, 
when she had seen the Arley carriage in town, and thought 
that my lady might call. Well, that’s long years ago; 
more than half a lifetime ! and yet it seems like yesterday ! 
I don’t know a fellow I should have liked better as a 
brother-in-law. You must have played your cards badly, 
my little Matty, somehow or another — wanted your 
brother to be a good go-between, eh! little one?” said he, 
putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she lay on the 
sofa — “Why, what’s this? you’re shivering and shaking, 
Matty, with that confounded open window. Shut it, 
Mary, this minute!” 

I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and 
see if she really was chilled. She caught at my hand, and 
gave it a hard squeeze — but unconsciously, I think — for in 
a minute or two she spoke to us quite in her usual voice, 
and smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently 
submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warmed 
bed and a glass of weak negus. I was to leave Cranford 
the next day, and before I went I saw that all the effects 
of the open window had quite vanished. I had super- 
intended most of the alterations necessary in the house arid 


“PEACE TO CRANFORD’ 


273 


household during the latter weeks of my stay. The shop 
was once more a parlor ; the empty resounding rooms again 
furnished up to the very garrets. 

There had been some talk of establishing Martha and 
Jim in another house; but Miss Matty would not hear to 
this. Indeed, I never saw her so much roused as when 
Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable arrange- 
ment. As long as Martha would remain with Miss Matty, 
Miss Matty was only too thankful to have her about her; 
yes, and Jim, too, who was a very pleasant man to have 
in the house, for she never saw him from week’s end to 
week’s end. And as for the probable children, if they 
would all turn out such little darlings as her god-daughter 
Matilda, she should not mind the number, if Martha 
didn’t. Besides, the next was to be called Deborah ; a point 
which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to Martha’s 
stubborn determination that her first-born was to be 
Matilda. So Miss Pole had to lower her colors, and even 
her voice, as she said to me that as Mr. and Mrs. Hearn 
were . still to go on living in the same house with Miss 
Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring 
Martha’s niece as an auxiliary. 

I left Miss Matty and Mr. Peter most comfortable an 
contented ; the only subject for regret to the tender heart 
of the one and the social friendly nature of the other being 
the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs. Jamieson and the 
plebeian Hogginses and their following. In joke I prophe- 
sied one day that this would only last until Mrs. Jamieson 
or Mr. Mulliner were ill, in which case they would only 
be too glad to be friends with Mr. Hoggins; but Miss 
Matty did not like my looking forward to anything like 


274 


CRANFORD 


illness in so light a manner; and, before the year was out, 
all had come round in a far more satisfactory way. 

I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious Octo- 
ber morning. Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to 
ask me to come over and meet the Gordons, who had 
returned to England alive and well, with their two chil- 
dren now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown had kept 
her old kind nature, although she had changed her name 
and station; and she wrote to say that she and Major 
Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the fourteenth,, 
and she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs. 
Jamieson (named first, as became her honorable station), 
Miss Pole, and Miss Matty — could she ever forget their 
kindness to her poor father and sister? — Mrs. Forrester, 
Mr. Hoggins (and here again came in an allusion to kind- 
ness shown to the dead long ago), his new wife, who, as 
such, must allow Mrs. Gordon to desire to make her 
acquaintance, and who was, moreover, an old Scotch friend 
of her husband’s. In short, every one was named, from 
the rector — who had been appointed to Cranford in the 
interim between Captain Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s 
marriage, and was now associated with the latter event — 
down to Miss Betty Barker rail were asked to the luncheon 
— all except Mrs. Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in 
Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, and whom I 
found rather moping on account of the omission. People 
wondered at Miss Betty Barker’s being included in the 
honorable list; but then, as Miss Pole said, we must 
remember the disregard of the genteel proprieties of life 
in which the poor captain had educated his girls ; and for 
his sake we swallowed our pride; indeed, Mrs. Jamieson 


PEACE TO CRANFORD 


275 


rather took it as a compliment,, as putting Miss Betty 
(formerly her maid) on a level with “those Hogginses.” 

But when 1 arrived in Cranford nothing was as yet 
ascertained of Mrs. Jamieson’s own intentions; would the 
honorable lady go, or would she not? Mr. Peter declared 
that she should and she would ; Miss Pole shook her head, 
and desponded. But Mr. Peter was a man of resources. 
In the first place, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to 
M rs. Gordon, and to tell her of Mrs. Fitz-Adam’s 
existence, and to beg that one so kind, and cordial, and 
generous, might be included in the pleasant invitation. 
An answer came back by return of post, with a pretty little 
note for Mrs. Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss Matty 
would deliver it herself, and explain the previous omission. 
Mrs. Fitz-Adam was as pleased as could be, and thanked 
Miss Matty over and over again. Mr. Peter had said, 
“Leave Mrs. Jamieson to me”; so we did; especially as we 
knew nothing that we could do to alter her determination, 
if once formed. 

I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were 
going on, until Miss Pole asked me, just the day before 
Mrs. Gordon came, if I thought there was anything be- 
tween Mr. Peter and Mrs. Jamieson in the matrimonial 
line, for that Mrs. Jamieson was really going to the lunch 
at the George. She had sent Mr. Mulliner down to 
desire that there might be a footstool put to the warmest 
seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew that 
their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this 
piece of news up, and from it she conjectured all sorts of 
things, and bemoaned yet more. ‘ If Peter should marry, 
what would become of poor dear Miss Matty! And Mrs. 


276 


CRANFORD 


Jamieson of all people!” Miss Pole seemed to think there 
were other ladies in Cranford who would have done more 
credit to his choice, and I think she must have had some 
one who was unmarried in her head, for she kept saying, 
“It was so wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such 
a thing.” 

When I got back to Miss Matty’s, I really did begin 
to think that Mr. Peter might T>e thinking of Mrs. Jamie- 
son for a wife; and I was as unhappy as Miss Pole about 
it. He had the proof-sheet of a great placard in his hand 
— “Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King of Delhi, the 
Rajah of Oude, and the Great Lama of Thibet, etc., etc.,” 
was going to “perform in Cranford for one night only” — 
the very next night ; and Miss Matty, exultant, showed 
me a letter from the Gordons promising to remain over 
this gayety, which Miss Matty said was entirely Peter’s 
doings. He had written to ask the Signor to come, and 
was to be at all the expenses of the affair. Tickets were 
to be sent gratis to as many as the room would hold. In 
short,, Miss Matty was charmed with the plan, and said 
that to-morrow Cranford would remind her of the Preston 
Guild, to which she had been in her youth — a luncheon at 
the George, with the dear Gordons, and the Signor in the 
Assembly-room in the evening. But! — I looked only at 
the fatal words : 

“Under the patronage of the Honorable Mrs. Jamie- 
son.” 

She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment 
of Mr. Peter’s; she was perhaps going to displace my dear 
Miss Matty in his heart, and make her life lonely once 
more ! I could not look forward to the morrow with any 


‘PEACE TO CRANFORD’’ 


277 


pleasure; and every innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s 
only served to add to my annoyance. 

So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little 
incident which could add to my irritation, I went on till 
we were all assembled in the great parlor at the George. 
Major and Mrs. Gordon, and pretty Flora, and Mr. 
Ludovic, were all as bright, and handsome, and friendly 
as could be ; but I could hardly attend to them for watch- 
ing Mr. Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally busy. 
I had never seen Mrs. Jamieson so roused and animated 
before; her face looked full of interest in what Mr. Peter 
was saying. I drew near to listen. My relief was great 
when I caught that his words were not words of love, but 
that, for all his grave face, he was at his old tricks. He 
w r as telling her of his travels in India, and describing the 
wonderful height of the Himalaya Mountains; one touch 
after another added to their size and each exceeded the 
former in absurdity; but Mrs. Jamieson really enjoyed all 
in perfect good faith. I suppose she required strong 
stimulants to excite her to come out of her apathy. Mr. 
Peter wound up his account by saying that., of course, at 
that altitude there were none of the animals to be found 
that existed in the lower regions; the game — everything 
was different. Firing one day at some flying creature, he 
was very much dismayed, when it fell, to find that he 
had shot a cherubim! Mr. Peter caught my eye at this 
moment, and gave me such 3 funn^ twinkle, that I felt 
sure he had no thoughts of Mrs. Jamieson as a wife, from 
that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed : 

“But, Mr. Peter — shooting a cherubim — don’t you think 
— I am afraid that was sacrilege!” 


278 


CRANFORD 


Mr. Peter composed his countenance in a moment, arrd 
appeared shocked at the idea, which, as he said truly 
enough, was now presented to him for the first time; but 
then Mrs. Jamieson must remember that he had been 
living for a long time among savages — all of whom were 
heathens — some of them, he was afraid, were downright 
Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss Matty draw near, he 
hastily changed the conversation, and after a little while, 
turning to me, he said, “Don’t be shocked, prim little 
Mary, at all my wonderful stories; I consider Mrs. Jamie- 
son fair game, and besides, I am bent on propitiating her, 
and the first step towards it is keeping her well awake. 
I bribed her here by asking her to let me have her name 
as patroness for my poor conjurer this evening; and I don’t 
want to give her time enough to get up her rancor against 
the Hogginses, who are just coming in. I want everybody 
to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much to hear of 
these quarrels. I shall go at it again by and by, so you 
need not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly- 
room to-night with Mrs. Jamieson on one side, and my 
lady Mrs. Hoggins on the other. You see if I don’t.” 

Somehow or another he did, and fairly got them into 
conversation together. Major and Mrs. Gordon helped 
at the good work, with their perfect ignorance of any 
existing coolness between any of the inhabitants of Cran- 
ford. 

Ever since that day there has been the old friendly socia- 
bility in Cranford society; which I am thankful for, be- 
cause of my dear Miss Matty’s love of peace and kindli- 
ness. We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow think we 
are all of us better when she is near us. 






















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